My Same
by Teanni
Summary: Everyone has left her. Is that the end of the story? Not really. That is when everything changes, some uneasy truths have to be acknowledged and new battles have to be fought. Varric/f!Hawke
1. The Unwashed and Unkempt Madwoman

**Disclaimer**: This story has been written out of fan-appreciation, so please don't sue.

She stared into the embers of the campfire burning before her. She felt empty, especially thinking about what lay behind her.

The last couple of years she had cautiously avoided anything even remotely resembling introspection. She had drowned her sorrows at the bottom of a pint and hid them behind sarcastic remarks. Taking a lover to avoid the feeling of loneliness hadn't worked out as brilliantly as she had planned either. He had betrayed her in the end.

The reasons for his betrayal were unimportant right now. She highly doubted they mattered to the many corpses that littered the wake of their love affair. Why should those reasons continue to matter to her then? Talking about the many deaths their love affair had caused wasn't just a flowery figure of speech or her being overly dramatic. No. Hundreds of people had actually died. She would have loved to say that it was just his fault, but as a matter of fact she thought her own behaviour equally reproachable. If she had only made the effort to really see him for what he was, if she had only taken time to marvel at the broken shell of a man that he was, instead of just looking at the rather pleasant façade of good looks and gentle words, maybe none of this would have happened.

Then again, how well could you know a person? How well did she know herself?

She had been through a lot in the last couple of years. Lost her home, her sister, mother, brother, gone from rags to riches and back again… Hearing it all in her mind now, it just didn't sound right and ever so slightly surreal. Things like that didn't happen to normal people. But, oh, how could she forget? She wasn't a normal person. I was the Champion of Kirkwall. She let out a sarcastic snort and poked at the embers with the tip of her dagger.

The dog, which lay stretched out at her feet, let out a pitiful whimper. She scratched him behind the ears. Just the way he liked it.

"Figures that it's just the two of us in the end, Barnaby. I always thought animals to be more trustworthy than humans anyway…" The dog laid his head on her knee and looked up at her with huge black eyes. Only a truly heartless creature would have not been moved by the tender expression in the dog's eyes. She allowed herself a little smile. "And the Champion walked away into the wilderness, accompanied only by her faithful dog. Hope Varric included you in the tale."

A deep voice behind her let her reach for her daggers and jump to her feet. "Sorry, that's not how I told it." She took her time to take in the figure standing before her. Even though he was still engulfed in the shadows of the forest she could faintly make out the trademark smirk on his face. Apparently he hadn't changed a lot since she last saw him. How long ago was that exactly? Half a year? A month? Maybe two? It was difficult keeping track of time out here.

Varric stepped into the light of the campfire. "Take those things out of my face, Hawke." He motioned with his eyes at the daggers that she was still directing at him.

"Sorry," she said somewhat at a loss for words and did as he asked.

"You're getting sloppy and your dog too."

At the mere sight of her old companion said dog was practically doing flip-flops, jumping around and barking happily. As the grand finale Barnaby had apparently decided it was time to slobber all over Varric's face which made the dwarf smile while Marian was feeling rather nonplussed.

"Down, boy," she ordered, giving the Mabari a stern look. Barnaby looked at her with sad, big dog eyes, but did as he was told.

Varric had in the meantime sat down on the trunk near the campfire. Despite the unfamiliar surroundings, he looked almost irritatingly smug and sure of himself.

"Glad to see you too, Varric." Despite the sarcasm in her voice there was a genuine smile on her face which he reciprocated with one of his own.

She sat down next to him. Now would customarily have been the time she would have had to ask him why he had sought her out or maybe how he had managed to find her at all, but she preferred to postpone that for a little while. He was giving her strange sideway glances that told her he was thinking something along the same lines. For a short time the only sounds to be heard were the crackling of the fire and the lonely cry of a bird in the distance.

He cleared his throat. "Look, you know I'm not one for long stretched silences."

She sighed. "I know. I just didn't want to ask right away. I'm tired."

He turned his head to look at her sharply. His eyes were fixed on her face as if they were searching for something. "You certainly look…," he paused deliberating his choice of words, "tired."

"Thanks." She let out weak snort. He had at least been polite enough not to say that she looked like shit.

"When have you last eaten something decent?"

Now that was a curious question. She wondered why he was asking it. Sure, only today she had had to buckle her belt tighter again, but she had thought nothing of it until now. It was not like she had any mirrors to parade in front of here in the wilderness. Not like she cared. "Why are you asking exactly?"

Varric sighed and shook his head. He usually had never been exasperated with her. Curiouser and curiouser. "I'm asking because you look like you haven't eaten properly in days."

When she tried to think back to her last proper meal and couldn't immediately tell when it had been, it occurred to her that he was probably right. The only reaction this realization provoked, however, was a simple "oh" which sounded neither surprised nor remorseful.

Of course, he, being the smart person he was, immediately noticed the disinterested tone of her voice and took offence at it. "Oh? That's all you have to say for yourself?"

"Why not?" she shrugged her shoulder casually which for some reason seemed to annoy him further. She heard him mutter a curse under his breath. Had she really thought he was more or less the same old Varric? He had certainly changed since she last saw him. He seemed more ill-humoured somehow.

Apparently she had managed to outrage him so much in a comparatively short amount of time that he had had to jump to his feet and pace in front of the fire. "You're supposed to be the Champion of Kirkwall, aren't you?" he asked sharply.

"Fat lot of good that did me," she interjected sarcastically.

He continued choosing not to hear her last comment. "I come here looking for you. And what do I find? I find an unwashed, unkempt, thin madwoman living in the woods, talking to her Mabari."

For some reasons Hawke found his words highly entertaining. She let out a hoarse laugh. "Is that what you came here to tell me, Varric?" She challengingly looked up into his eyes. It was one of the rare occasions he was taller than her and she actually had to look up to meet his eyes.

"No, I came here to tell you about the Seekers." He gave her a stern look. Varric didn't do stern very often. It had to be serious.

"Let me guess. The Seekers," she put all her sarcasm into that particular word, "are looking for me. Big surprise!"

"I wouldn't be so calm about that. They've questioned me for an entire week. They seem to be pretty keen on finding you."

"Are they now? And what do they want? Kill me? They'll have to get in line..."

Varric ran his hand through his hair. "Why do I even bother?" He whispered frustratedly.

"Don't ask me. I'm at a loss."

"How did you manage to become even more irritating since we last saw each other?"

"Because most of the time, when we two were together, we were either killing things or getting drunk. Helps to take the edge off," Hawke calmly explained.

She knew that even being that mad at her, Varric couldn't possibly keep a straight face at that. It turned out she was right. He actually allowed himself a small smirk. It was only a rather short-lived triumph, however, because as quickly as that smile had come it disappeared again.

"All joking aside, Hawke, we need to do something about this. Right now I'm less worried about the Seekers finding you than about you fainting from hunger."

"And what are you going to do about it? Kill a deer and force-feed it to me?"

"Nothing that barbaric and time consuming," he swatted the thought away like a pesky fly with a wave of his hand. "I thought I saw an inn a few miles down the road..."

"Not worried anyone will recognize me there?"

He gave her a pointed look. "Right now? Not particularly. I'm glad even I recognized you."

"Funny."

"That's what I thought too. Glad that your sense of humour's still intact," he smiled at her humourlessly.

"I thought I didn't have to explain to you of all people the difference between a humorous remark and pure sarcasm..."

"You don't. A person of refined manners simply chooses to ignore rudeness sometimes and not point it out to others all of the time, because that, Hawke, would be rude."

"Behaviour lessons from a dwarf. And here I thought I've seen it all," Hawke muttered to herself sourly.

"Stop mumbling under your breath. And move you're ass, Hawke!"


	2. Honesty always makes the ladies cry

Varric had insisted she finish the whole plate. He had even made sure she did by sitting down opposite her and watching her. For some reason she found that highly amusing and had to chuckle through mouthfuls of food from time to time. Each one of her little laughs was met with one of Varric's dark glances which would have actually been quite menacing had not the entire situation been that ridiculous. Varric behaving like a mother hen? Certainly not something you saw every day.

"This is not funny, Hawke," he finally growled at her when it was clear that just glaring at her would not do the job of shutting her up.

"Oh, I beg to differ," she smiled and washed down the last bite of food with a bit of ale. Her stomach felt funny, like it was about to burst. The feeling of being completely full was slightly unfamiliar and it was starting to dawn on her that maybe he had been right in taking her here and forcing some food down her throat. She was not prepared to thank him for that, however. Not yet anyways.

"Now you'll be a good girl, take a bath, have a good night of sleep and try to be less irritating tomorrow morning," Varric leaned back in his chair watching her. Bianca, his crossbow, was resting against the leg of his chair casually.

She smiled at him ironically. "When has giving me orders ever worked?"

He pretended to think about it for a moment. "It's either this or I'll ask again nicely only this time I'll be shoving Bianca in your face."

"Charming."

"Yeah, you know me and my dwarven charms," he smiled humourlessly at her. For a moment it was like old times. Varric and her, the background noise of a tavern, mugs of ale standing in front of them on the table. His smile fell as did hers. Nothing was like old times.

"How have you been, Hawke?" he finally asked the rather redundant question that had been standing between them since they had met again back in the forest. It was redundant because it was plain to see that she had been anything other than well in the last couple of months.

She watched him thoughtfully for a while before she answered. "Miserable," she finally said.

"How have you been?" she added in an afterthought. It was almost a reflex. Her mother had always made it a point to teach her children manners.

He let out a hoarse laugh. "Imprisoned and interrogated."

There was a brief silence between them which wasn't unpleasant as such until it stretched on for too long. She didn't want to keep talking, because she was afraid of what she might say, so she yawned demonstratively and got to her feet.

It was slowly starting to dawn on her that she was truly glad to see him. Of all the friends she had made in the last couple of years he was the one she could always rely on, the one that had never disappointed her. And that was quite something given the fact that she had seen quite a lot of betrayal since she stepped foot into Kirkwall. 'Betrayal' – now that wasn't a good word. Because she had come to associate it with two names that immediately floated up from her subconscious: Carver and Anders.

It was no good dwelling on those thoughts for too long. Just thinking those two names hurt because they inevitable brought back memories that were anything other than fond. She wiped at her eyes which had become rather watery with the back of her hand, hoping he hadn't noticed. Instead of telling him how glad she was he was there, she decided on a simple "Goodnight, Varric" and briefly squeezed his shoulder as she passed him by.

For a moment his hand touched hers. Its touch was warm and coarse and also reassuring.

"Night, Hawke."

* * *

><p>Later, up in her room, she was standing in front of the mirror naked. The hot bathtub was steaming beside her, already fogging up the glass. She didn't do it out of vanity or because she liked looking at herself. The reason why she kept staring into the mirror was an odd and maybe even macabre fascination with what she saw. She just couldn't tear her eyes away from her own reflection though they were already swimming with tears. What the mirror showed her was nothing pleasant or reassuring. It was shocking and unexpected. That was not how she remembered herself. True, her last gaze inside a mirror had revealed a woman with haunted eyes, but except for that there had been no other physical evidence of her inner turmoil. Now her figure had turned from slender and muscular to disquietingly thin. Her unkempt hair was dully hanging down her unwashed face. It also was much longer than she remembered. She looked like a ghost, like a beggar living in the streets of Darktown.<p>

Was that really her? Her fingers touched the cold surface of the mirror for reassurance. Yes, that was her.

So that was why Varric had been so stern before. He had not been angry with her. Or probably not for the reasons she had imagined. It was beginning to dawn on her that in that equation worry was probably the predominant emotion. Looking at herself she finally understood why. She had neglected herself, even painfully so.

She finally managed to turn away from her own reflection. There was no sense in staring at the mirror. It was not like that was going to change anything. In her heart of hearts she was a pragmatic. This way she wouldn't get happier or healthier. The bathwater, however, would only get cold and it would not be pleasant scrubbing herself clean with cold water.

* * *

><p>For the first time in a rather long time she had slept well. There had been no nightmares; no animal calls in the middle of the night to rip her out of her dreams. She was starting to feel remotely like her old self again.<p>

To her surprise, when she was bounding down the stairs of the inn, her Mabari following only a few steps behind, she found Varric already sitting at one of the tables of the inn. Compared to yesterday evening the place was deserted. There were a couple of men over by the window. Judging by their clothes and their conversation, which was currently revolving around elfroot and its many beneficial effects, they were probably healers or merchants. In any case a group of people which appeared to be profoundly unthreatening. Except for them and the unsuspicious looking elderly couple by the door, it was just her and Varric.

"Sleep alright?" he asked, acknowledging her presence with a nod of his head.

"Like a babe."

"I can tell. Without those circles under your eyes you're starting to look less like an oversized racoon and more like a human being. Good thing."

"Yes," she actually had to smile at his words. To an outsider they might have sounded insulting, but she knew better than to take them serious. That was like their friendship had always worked. Keep it light and simple. The only problem was that now, unlike in years past, she was starting to have trouble coming up with adequate repartees.

The lightness of the moment dissipated. Her face fell. "I've been meaning to tell you something, Varric."

"Yeah, what is it, Hawke?" he looked at her, a faint trace of worry in his eyes.

"Thank you."

"Nah, it's nothing." He leaned back in his chair casually, crossing his arms over his chest. "Barely worth mentioning. You would have done the same for me."

"Yes, I would have."

It was an uncharacteristic admission coming from Hawke. Seriousness was not part of their usual routine. The remark caught him slightly of guard. He was momentarily at a loss for words.

Normally she would have taken the chance to tease him mercilessly about it. Instead she decided to come to his rescue and took it upon herself to keep the conversation going.

"So those people you mentioned yesterday… How serious a problem are they going to turn out to be?"

"They seemed rather impressed with what you did. I don't think they want to kill you. They probably just want to talk. Make you an offer you can't refuse."

"Good. That's a relief. I was hoping you'd say that. I don't think I'm in the mood for another attempt at my life right now," she smiled at him weakly. Needless to say that in her present state she wasn't able to fend of any attackers either. They both knew that.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but are you sure there isn't any chance they might have followed you?"

"Seems rather unlikely. I took care to cover up all my tracks."

"Alright," she sighed. "So you've warned me. What's the plan? Are you going to leave again now?" She tried to make the question sound as neutral as she could.

"Depends," he answered enigmatically.

"On what?"

"Multiple factors. I for one am a bit worried that if I leave again you might end up some madwoman with bird nests in her hair roaming the Free Marches or worse yet get yourself killed, but you might not want to hear that and prefer to wallow in your self-pity some more. Do you by the way?"

The onslaught of words had finished. She had to blink a couple of times, dumb-founded by what he had said, before she finally found her voice again. It sounded rather shrill and unpleasant to her own ears. "I'm not wallowing in self-pity."

"Oh, please! You're even worse than the elf ever was!"

"Alright, I do wallow," she was getting slightly agitated, also it was becoming increasingly difficult not to raise her voice at him. "But can you really blame me after everything that happened?"

"No," he answered simply, trying to remind himself that this wasn't his old friend Marian Hawk he was talking to. The one he could tease mercilessly. The one that would never be offended by one of his little comments. The one that always gave as good as she got. This was another version of her, a slightly older and jaded one. He could see that his words had unintentionally hit a nerve. All he had wanted to do was cheer her up, get her out of her sulk. Instead now he had enraged her so much, she was precariously skittering along the edge of someplace dark and dangerous.

"I know…," she took a deep breath trying to calm herself. He probably had no idea what kind of emotions his words had stirred. Everything was bubbling to the surface again. The betrayal, the death, the destruction. Not now. She couldn't deal with it now. She couldn't. She was trying to get herself under control again, while he was watching her worriedly. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Only after she had regained some semblance of control over herself again, she trusted herself to continue. "I know that you love your little verbal barbs, Varric. No one gets that like I do, believe me. But right now…right now I'm just not in the mood for them. Frankly, I can't stand them. It's just too much."

He almost looked offended. Like by making this comment she had rejected him and who he was. She had never managed to offend him in all those years she knew him, so she continued in the hope that she might be able to make him understand how she felt, what she felt. "Can't you just once…just this one time not hide behind words and say what you really think? Nothing fancy. Nothing complicated."

"Alright," he said slowly. She could tell that such honesty didn't come easy to him. "I'm your friend and I'm worried about you. And no matter what you're going to say I'm not leaving you again until I've made sure you're better."

Her eyes were round like saucers when she looked at him. The anger had instantly dissipated. She realized that what she felt was relief. Overwhelming relief. She also realized, to her utter embarrassment, that she was crying. "Thank you," she said finally because she knew nothing better to say. Unfortunately the tears wouldn't stop. She was probably making a big fool out of herself. She muttered little curses as she tried to brush the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Maker! Hawke! Don't you dare do this to me!" she could hear Varric say. He sounded exasperated, but not angry, more like he didn't really know what to make of this situation. Then, only seconds later, she heard his chair being pushed back and shortly after felt a hand tentatively touching her shoulder. She looked up at his face. She could tell this was awkward for him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm probably a huge pain in the ass. I'll stop now. Really. I will." But she couldn't stop, because she had bottled up the emotion inside of her too long. There were too many fits of rage she had suppressed, too many tears she hadn't allowed herself to cry. Now those damned tears saw their chance and were determined to make the most of it apparently.

"See, that's why honesty is a bad thing. Always makes the ladies cry," he offered with a crooked smile. His hand was still patting her shoulder somewhat mechanically.

She managed to actually laugh a little, even despite the tears, then, without warning, she instinctively reached out to hug him. It was a purely selfish gesture and more awkwardness would probably ensue thanks to that, she was almost sure of that, but right now she didn't care. It felt good to know he was there.

Surprisingly he hugged her back. Now that she was sitting and he standing, they were the same height. She could smell the leather of his weather duster and feel the stubble of his beard against her skin. And she could also hear his voice very clearly in her ear when he whispered the following words to her: "If you ever mention that to anyone, you're dead, Hawke. Dead. Are we clear on that?"

She smiled, the tears already subsiding a little. "Crystal clear."


	3. Scars are manly

"You do know where we're going though?" he asked again. They had been walking for a while now. She didn't seem to be perturbed by the fact that they didn't have a map with them and generally no idea where they were going. Her blasted dog didn't seem to be either. He was happily wagging his tail, circling around her, running here and there, sniffing at flowers and letting out happy little yelps. Unfortunately he wasn't so easily pleased. "Hawke!" That finally got her attention. She turned around.

"What?"

Instead of an answer he just gave her a pointed look. She had bloody well heard him the first times around. "No, I have no idea where we're going, but that's just the beauty of it, isn't it?"

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Really," she reassured him. "Or do you have any idea where to go next? I mean I'm all ears. So suggestions?" She barely gave him the time to answer before she added her next words in an afterthought. "And no the words 'next tavern' can't appear in your answer."

"Well, that limits our options somewhat…"

"Yeah. That's why I decided that it would be best to just keep walking. See where the road takes us, you know…"

"Now that you put it this way…"

"Makes sense, right?"

He made a sound of approval. The midday sun was blinding him and he had to shield his eyes to be able to look at her properly. He couldn't make out much of her face, except for the smile that was plastered on it, which was certainly an improvement from this morning, so he decided to humour her. "Maybe we'll run into some trouble on the way," he said cheerfully. "Bianca could certainly use some action."

"I don't know if I'm ready for action yet." Her smile fell somewhat.

He shrugged his shoulders casually and sauntered past her. "Well, it so happens that I'm pretty good at protecting damsels in distress." He could practically see her frown before his mind's eye which brought a mischievous glint to his eyes.

"I'm no damsel in distress," she fell into step next to him. "You know that."

"Of course." The way he said it, the ironic undercurrent in his voice, only enraged her further. She was about to come up with a decent reply, but never actually got around to saying anything because her attention was suddenly directed elsewhere.

"Well, well, that's an odd couple if I've ever seen one," said a male voice. The voice was belonging to a tall, brought-shouldered, unshaven man that was currently blocking the road in front of them. His sudden appearance and the fact that he was accompanied by at least five other men let the two travelling companions immediately tense up. Usually people you met on the road weren't very talkative. So the men's talkativeness allowed only one of two conclusions. He was either a bandit or extremely starved for attention.

Under normal circumstance now would have usually been the time when Hawke made one of her witty remarks, but because she remained silent instead and took a few cautious steps back, Varric decided to jump in. He wasn't scared. He had already faced Darkspawns and dragons, so a handful of wannabe bandits really wasn't a big deal.

He pretended to count under his breath, then whistled through his teeth. "My, my, six grown men. Too scared to take a walk alone, ehy?"

"You watch out, Devin. They don't seem to be afraid," the man standing next to the one that had initially spoken up stage whispered to his companion worriedly.

"And now you said my name, Rowan," the other man rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I just wanted to take their coin, but now we'll have to kill them."

The fight was over really quickly. It would have been a lot quicker had she more actively participated in it. She blinked several times as if coming out of a daze. The only ones left standing were Varric, the dog and her, so that was something good. The next realization turned out to be something less good. Varric had been hurt. Blood was oozing from a huge gash on his left shoulder. The sight of him clutching his shoulder, his face distorted in pain, snapped her right out of her stupor. She was immediately at his side, her eyes expertly assessing the seriousness of his wound. He did not seem to notice her until her hand gently touched the back of his hand. Despite his injury he was still holding Bianca in a vicelike grip. The blood was trickling down his arm and dripping from the sleeve of his coat. Her fingers softly tugged at his as if to say 'let go' and without complaining he complied. She almost reverently placed the weapon on the ground next to him.

She reached into her backpack and produced a clean shirt of hers. "Press this to the wound to stop the bleeding," she held out the piece of clothing to him invitingly. He hesitated. "Come on. You know as well as I do that we have to get out of here. Last thing we need now is to draw attention to ourselves." For some reason she had switched into full leadership mode. He was in too much pain right now to waste any thoughts as to what had triggered her change of behaviour. He only did as he was told and pressed the piece of cloth against the bleeding wound, while she searched the corpses trying to find any clue as to why those men had attacked them. Luckily it turned out it had been just as it seemed. A rather stupid spur of the moment decision made by some two-bit bandits and not some premeditated scheme.

They started walking, wisely avoiding to continue their journey on the road, out of fear of meeting other travellers who would doubtlessly link them with the carnage they had left in their wake. The forest seemed to be a much safer and smarter choice. In the meantime he had wrapped her once white shirt, which was now closer to crimson red, around his arm as a makeshift bandage. They were walking wordlessly. Varric, because it was hard to focus on anything but the pain radiating in waves from his wound. Hawke, because she was too engrossed in alternatively worrying and chastising herself for not being able to prevent her friend from getting hurt. After what seemed like an eternity, though in reality it had only been ten minutes, they finally stopped.

"Sit," she ordered him simply. He complied. She seemed closer too her old self now, then she had in the last couple of days. Her fingers started to gingerly peel away the makeshift bandage from his arm. He flinched and sucked in some air. "I'm sorry," her voice trembled suspiciously.

Then again maybe he had been wrong. She wasn't back to her old self. Her old self would have made a few sarcastic remarks to hide her concern. Now she was just plain concerned which was slightly unsettling.

"We'll have to clean the wound."

"No surprise there," he said through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, well… You'll have to take off your duster and your shirt." Her words came out rather abruptly and despite the pain he was in, he had to laugh.

"So that's the reason why you dragged me into the woods, huh?"

"Oh, will you please shut up! Now's not the time." Her eyes sparkled at him dangerously. The sheen of sweat on his forehead and the pale colour of his face hadn't escaped her.

"Now's as good a time as any."

Instead of a reply she just sighed. "If you say so. Will you just…," she gestured with her hands at his arm. He nodded. It was no problem getting out of the right sleeve, but the left one was a whole different matter. She lent him a hand gingerly tucking at the sleeve. He was breathing rapidly by the time they had managed to get rid off the duster.

She took the coat and neatly folded it together, her fingers briefly hovering over the hole in the sleeve before she gently laid it down. It was ruined. Surely he would complain about it once she had patched him up again. But now was not the time to linger on trivial thoughts like that.

Hawke sighed, then focused her attention on her patient again.

"So how do we do this? The shirt... Can you raise your arms?" she asked hesitantly.

"Don't think so," he shook his head.

"Cut off the sleeve?" she supplied.

"I hate to say it, but yes."

She scooted closer to him. This was odd. They had been friends for a long time. But they had never really been that close physically. It was unsettling her for reasons she couldn't quite put her finger on. She reached for one of her daggers, ready to slice off the sleeve. His skin underneath her fingers felt slick and warm. She quickly swallowed down the lump in her throat and went to work. The sleeve came off almost instantly. She was still rather adept in the use of her dagger, but much less adept a healer. He briefly flinched when the she removed the fabric from the wound. It didn't look good. The bleeding had stopped, but the cut was deep, like someone had hit him full force with a blade and slashed it over his skin. The guilt was almost overwhelming now.

He had probably been too distracted to defend himself, too distracted because he had been protecting her. So much for not being a damsel in distress. Wasn't she supposed to be the Champion of Kirkwall? Some champion she was.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"What? I'm sorry there's nothing I can do for you? I'm sorry your arm's going to fall off in the next couple of days?" He was still joking even though he was in pain, which was a good sign. "You're clearly new to this, Hawke. You really shouldn't say those kinds of things when you're treating someone's wounds, you know."

She gave him a weak smile. "No, more like 'I'm sorry I'm a useless mess and you got injured trying to protect me'."

"Forget about it. Try to think of it as me repaying a favour. How many times did you have to save my sorry ass in the last couple of years?"

"It's not as simple as you're trying to make it sound." He was about to reply something but she cut him off with her next words. "We need something high proof."

He briefly contemplated the possibility of ignoring her last comment in favour of continuing their conversation where they had last left of, but something told him not to press the matter now, so he played along. "I've been thinking that for the last couple of minutes."

"To clean the wound," she clarified. Still no reaction. She gave him a pointed look. "You do remember that we've known each other for quite some time now. I know you've got something on you."

He begrudgingly reached inside his rucksack producing a flask filled with an amber liquid. She whistled through her teeth. "The good stuff! Must have cost you…"

"No kidding," he let out a hoarse laugh. "Can you please not waste everything on external treatment?"

"I'll try not to."

She uncorked and sniffed the flask. The smell was strongly alcoholic. She crinkled her nose. He smiled at her antics, but the smile quickly faded when she let a couple of drops of the liquid run over his wound.

"Ah!"

"Don't be such a baby."

"Easy for you to say."

"I'm sorry." Her eyes briefly searched his, then they fixed on his arm again.

"Don't be."

"You're going to need stitches. I'm not good at these. It's going to leave a scar. If we had a healer…"

"But we don't," he interrupted her before she could ramble on and approach any potentially dangerous subjects like blonde apostate healers.

"So you don't mind a scar?"

"Scars a manly."

Despite the seriousness of the situation she could not suppress her smile. "Good. Because in that case you're soon going to be much more manlier."

"Much manlier than this? Impossible."

She didn't reply. He looked at her for a response only to detect a soft colouring of her cheeks. Was she blushing? Hawke never blushed. He was left no time to further pursue this thought because she quickly turned away to search her backpack for her injury kit. She produced it seconds later with a triumphant, but nervous grin. The blush was still in place. He momentarily debated with himself whether to comment on it or not, but it would only make her more nervous which wouldn't improve her sewing skills.

"Here," he held out the bottle with the liquor to her. "Helps to calm the nerves."

"You really think that's wise?" she asked worriedly.

"You're not going to down the whole thing, are you?"

"No," she replied and took a sip of the bottle. The liquid tasted bitter and burned as it ran down her throat, but it left a pleasantly warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. She handed the bottle back to him. "You'll need this more than I do."

"Reassuring." He took a swing from the bottle.

"I'll try my best to make you feel comfortable."

"Really? Because the last time a girl said that the situation was quite different. Distinctly less…bloody and immensely more pleasurable."

"Can you please stop that?"

"What?"

"The teasing."

"Am I making you flustered, Hawke?"

"No."

"I'd like to believe you, but you're blushing." He just couldn't resist the temptation of getting in a pointed remark. And to be honest she had practically been begging for it.

"I am not blushing," she punctuated every word of it, being vastly contradicted by the quite impressive blush on her face.

He chuckled under his breath. "I hate to tell you, but you are."

"Okay. Right. Have your fun then," she huffed. "At least it can't be that bad if you're still able to crack jokes. But unless you want your arm to look like the butt of an abomination, you'd better shut up now."

He made a gesture with his hand indicating that he would now be silent and she went to work with a grim expression on her face. Throughout the whole procedure he never even flinched which was probably thanks to the alcohol, because in-between stitches he regularly took a swing from the bottle. She certainly couldn't blame him for that. She was starting to feel rather thirsty herself, so once she had stopped sewing she unceremoniously snatched the bottle from his hands.

He made a sound of disapproval which she rewarded with a death glare. He had the sense to stay quiet and just raise his hands in defeat. Once she was done drinking, which was after only two huge draughts, she unceremoniously shoved back the bottle into his hands to be able to apply the healing poultice. "Don't drink it all up," she admonished sternly.

"What? Me?" he tried to make an innocent face and pitifully failed at it, because of the mischievous sparkle in his eye. "Wouldn't dream of it. You're always less ill-humoured once you got some spirits in you."

"Ha ha! Very funny." She was already neatly packing away the healing supplies into her rucksack. "By the way you can now put on your shirt again."

"What? Distracted by all the muscle and naked flesh?" He laughed. His remarks were getting cheekier so clearly the alcohol was already affecting him somewhat.

She looked at him for the fraction of a second desperately searching for some smart and witty comeback, but momentarily couldn't come up with something. The second passed and she found her voice again. "Yeah, right! Just shut up and hand over the bottle."


	4. Loose threads

The dim twilight had made way to darkness. In front of them a campfire was flickering merely, between them, in the dirt, lay the by now empty flask, which had formerly been filled with some special brand of dwarven liquor whose name she had already forgotten. Right now she couldn't care less about things like that. She was currently covering her ears and pleading with Varric not to continue singing. Of course her plea was only convincing to a certain extent because she was doubling over with laughter the whole time. She hadn't laughed that much in a very long time. It was exhilarating and made her feel strangely dizzy.

"No, please. No more! I've already heard all ten verses of the Gates of Orzammar the last time you were drunk and it was horrible back then and it is still horrible now."

"What? Are you saying I'm a horrible singer? In that case I'm offended." He crossed his arms over his chest, forgetting about his injury. The immediate twinge of pain quickly refreshed his memory.

"Something wrong?" she asked worriedly.

"Except for my bruised ego? Nah! Everything fine," he sat down next to her again, or to be more precise, ungracefully slumped down next to her. Thankfully he desisted from continuing the song.

They just sat there and stared into the campfire for a while. "I'm sorry… About the bruised ego and the other stuff," she said finally. It was quite clear to both of them what she meant by the other stuff.

He turned to her, squinting his eyes together in order to better make out her blurry contours. Her face was surrounded by a warm, glowy halo from the fire. "You," his index finger was hovering over her sternum, "you have nothing to be sorry about it."

"Yes, I have. If I had fought instead of cowering behind you like a little girl, you wouldn't have been injured." He could tell by the bitter curve of her mouth and her slumped shoulders that her mood had apparently switched from happily drunk to depressed. A rather bleak turn of events. He much preferred her to be happy. After everything she had been through she deserved to be happy.

He had to say something. But what? What was he supposed to tell her? A joke just wouldn't cut it. This required seriousness. He had enough alcohol in him to attempt it. "If you had fought today you would have been killed." He was slightly more sober now.

"Yeah, maybe. But I hate…," her voice cracked up. She looked away. Her eyes were fixed on the flames instead of his face when she continued speaking. "I hate losing people. It makes me sick to the guts. First Carver, then Bethany, mother…," she briefly hesitated before she added the last name to the list, "Anders. I just can't take it anymore."

Even drunk it didn't escape his notice that she had been talking about people she had loved and lost and that she had for some reason put him on the same level with them. What did it mean? Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot. He was too boozed to think about the implication right now. What he understood rather well, however, was the fact she needed a shoulder to cry on. Maybe she had needed it for a long time and he had been too oblivious to see it.

"Hawke." She didn't look at him when he first said her name. "Marian." That got her attention. In all those years it was the first time he had used her given name. "You're not going to lose me."

She answered him with a sad laugh. "Don't be stupid. You can't promise me you won't get killed…"

"No, I can't," he sighed. Honesty was much more difficult and exhausting than making sarcastic remarks. He was rare that he wore his heart on his sleeve like that. "But… you know that I'm always right behind you."

She took in his words. At first she seemed to be touched, then her mouth curled into a smile. "You know that sounds slightly… naughty."

He had to laugh as well. "What? As in right behind you to check out your skinny ass?"

"Yeah, precisely," she giggled. "Hey! My ass is not skinny," she added in an afterthought and punched his good arm. "You're horrible."

"I beg to differ and just for the record, you used to punch harder," he announced, resisting to temptation to mock rub his arm in indignation. His wound would only act up. The reminder of that was still fresh on his mind.

"As I said before. Horrible. Point and case."

"Just saying, Hawke."

"Yeah, I know," she sighed and leaned her head on his good shoulder. It happened instinctually and came probably as unexpected to him as it did to her. He momentarily stiffened, not knowing to do, while she was silently asking herself what she had been thinking, swearing not to ever drink again while he was around. They were both waiting anxiously for what was to happen next – some indication of what the other was thinking, a word of approval, or disapproval, just anything really. After all this was scary uncharted territory.

"Just so you know," he said after a while, his voice uncharacteristically devoid of the usual joking drawl, and maybe there was even a hint of shyness, but that was probably wishful thinking combined with the effects of dwarven liquor. "The thing from before... I really did mean it like that."

"What? The part where you were talking about my ass? Or the always being there part?"

He chuckled. "The always being there part."

"Good." He laid his arm around her shoulders and she did her best to suppress that sigh of relief that was about to burst out of her.

* * *

><p>He slowly came to the next morning wondering where the hell he was. The light was a little bit too bright. Everything around him was blurry and colourful, the predominate colour being green. He rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the stubble under his fingers. The heavy breathing of a dog warned him of the close proximity of Hawke's Mabari, but unfortunately he wasn't quick enough in his present hung-over state to evade the slobbery tongue connecting seconds later with his cheek.<p>

He made a sound of displeasure trying to push the dog away. "Go pester your mistress, you mongrel."

"You heard the man," he could hear Marian's voice which sounded surprisingly awake and cheerful. The dog, being the intelligent beast it was, let out a disappointed whine, then retreated. Varric wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt disgustedly.

"So how come you're up and about?" he grumbled as he slowly got to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes with his hands. Squinting against the persistently too bright light he could make out Marian sitting a couple of metres away on a log. Her eyebrows were knitted together in concentration as her eyes were intently fixed on a brown piece of cloth lying on her lap. As he looked closer, he realized she was sewing something which was an oddity in itself, because the last person he expected to be homely was her. Needlework was definitely something he would have never associated with Marian Hawke. The world was a funny place.

When he realized, however, just precisely what she was sewing the expression in his eyes grew tender and he momentarily even forgot about his ill humour and pounding headache. She was trying to save his beloved duster. He knew it was just a stupid coat, but during all that time he had worn it, it had become more than just a simple article of clothing. It was part of his history and also part of the history they shared together. He had gotten it just after he had come to Kirkwall and worn it ever since.

Varric was just about to thank her, say something heartfelt and foolish, but then she poked herself in the finger with the needle, upon which she uttered a chain of curses that would have probably made even Isabela blush. The whole scenario was just too bizarre and bizarre was certainly understated in that case, because it wasn't everyday that you could witness the Champion of Kirkwall sucking at her finger because she had just poked herself with a needle. So bizarre in fact that he couldn't hold back his laughter.

* * *

><p>About a week later they were sitting across from each other in some tavern, nothing special, just some dive by the side of the road, eating dinner and having some ale. She was having the odd feeling of being watched as she was enjoying her unexpectedly tasty stew, so she stopped eating for a moment to look up at him. The expression on his face could best be described as wistful. She didn't know what to make of it.<p>

"Do I have something on my face?" she asked insecurely.

"Nah, nothing wrong with your face," he reassured her.

"Alright," she said slowly, sitting up straighter now, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Are you hungry?" She pushed the plate in his direction, ready to offer him some of her foot.

He smiled, but declined with a wave of his hand.

"Suit yourself." She shrugged her shoulders and was about to start eating again, but her spoon stopped its decent on her plate when she heard him say the next words.

"You're starting to look like your old self again," he said somewhat abruptly, which was at odds with his usual smooth way of making conversation.

She looked at him in surprise, not sure what to make of his remark. The expression on his face was unreadable. "Is that a good or a bad thing?"

"Oh, definitely a good thing," he gave her a one of his trademark cocky smiles. For once it looked at a little forced. Like he was feeling uncomfortable or maybe not as secure of himself as he let on to be. "Don't get conceited, Hawke, but I always described you as the beautiful and brave Champion, and not just because I have a thing for alliteration, but because it's true." He quickly took a drink from his ale, making it impossible for her to read his expression.

She also tried her best to mask her reaction to his words by pretending like nothing had happened. So instead of staring at him with her mouth agape, she focused her attention on the plate of food in front of her again. As she listlessly poked and prodded at the by now lukewarm stew, she felt her cheeks burning. There was also that excited tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach that made it impossible for her to eat. He had always been a flatterer. Half the time the things that left his mouth were not meant to be taken serious, but right here and now his words had not sounded like they had been spoken in jest.

* * *

><p>She woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of her own screams, feeling disorientated and unable to tell where she was. Through the tears swimming in her eyes she could make out the night sky above her head, and she could see a face hovering over her, Varric's face. His hand was on her cheek, his coarse thumb stroking her skin softly. He didn't say anything, didn't need to. She could see the worry in his eyes and also the unspoken question.<p>

Her voice sounded frail and wavered when she finally spoke. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He answered, his voice sincere and soft.

"But I am," she said more vehemently. A tear trickled down her face. He brushed it away with his thumb. "I didn't want to wake you."

"It doesn't matter."

They stayed like that for a moment. His hand wandered from her cheek to her hair. His touch was soothing, like it could keep her from falling apart or maybe even stitch her back together like a broken rag doll. For a moment she focused on the feeling of his hand stroking her hair. It calmed her, the turmoil of emotions inside of her, the anger, the feeling of loss and betrayal. At least it did for the moment. She knew better than to hope her problems would just magically disappear over night.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked after what seemed like an eternity.

She sat up slowly, coming face to face with him. His hair was loose, hanging around his shoulders, not tied back in the usual sleek ponytail she was used to.

"No, but if I don't talk about it it's not going to make things better, I guess," she sniffled a little, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Probably not," he offered her a soft smile.

She took a deep breath. "The dreams…they are always the same." She paused, thinking of a way to adequately put her feelings into words. "They feel so real, like it's actually happening. Like I'm really talking to them. I keep telling myself that it can't be. That it's too good to be true. Because I know that they are dead and…" She drifted off. Her eyes were directed somewhere behind him like she was looking at him, but not really looking at him at the same time.

She didn't need to finish the rest of the sentence. He understood. It was clear she was talking about her family. Her mother, her brother and her sister who she had all seen pass away over the short span of only ten years, which was too much for any person to bear, even for someone strong like her. It was more than anyone should be forced to deal with. He should never have left her side, never assumed that just because she was the Champion she would be alright. He reached out and took her hand in his. Her eyes focused back on him. It was as if by touching her hand he had brought her back from a faraway place.

Her voice was shaky when she started talking again. "I keep thinking…that maybe I'm too broken to ever be right again."

"Don't say that." He shook his head vehemently, refusing to acknowledge what she had just said.

"No one can fix me. You can't fix me, Varric. You can give me something to eat, try to cheer me up, but even though I may look like my old self, I'm not. I would have liked to believe that there was a way back, but there isn't. That part of me is dead. Just like the rest of my family."

"No," he just said.

"No?" She looked at him in surprise. "Just no?"

"No, I won't give up on you," he clarified. "And don't you dare give up on yourself either."

"I've already told you there is no going back. I can't…" She was about to finish the sentence, but he wouldn't let her. "I don't expect you to." He unconsciously scooted closer to her, fixing her intently with his eyes. She had never noticed how unique the colour of his eyes was. Not until now. For some reason she felt hypnotized by his gaze. "You don't expect me to," she repeated silently.

"No, and it's important that you don't either. Just be you, Hawke. Just be."

"I can't just be," she pulled her hand out of his grasp. Her voice sounded irritated.

"Why not?"

"Back then…back then I was the Champion of Kirkwall. What am I now? Only a broken woman that can't fight and can't stop crying. I'm not strong anymore. I am not anything. I'm weak, pathetic." Her eyes flashed angrily at him. At least there was still some fight in her.

"You're not nothing, Hawke," he said tenderly, unimpressed by the anger directed towards him. He knew better than to mistake her outburst for anything other than what it was. Desperation.

"Don't say that. It's not true." Her eyes were shining now, fresh tears gathering in them.

"I will keep saying it until you believe it." His voice was soft and determined. It was clear that arguing with him about this was quite pointless.

"Well, that will probably be a long time coming."

"No, problem," he said without hesitation. "I'm a patient man."

That night they fell asleep next to each other. He pulled up his cot next to hers and wordlessly held out his hand to her before he closed his eyes to sleep. The gesture briefly gave her reason to pause, but then she took his hand and never let go of it again till the next morning.


	5. When the princess kissed the dwarf

"I didn't think I would ever have to say those words again, Hawke, but we're broke," Varric looked down at his purse with an ironic smile, extracting the last coin from it. "This is all we have left."

"Impressive. Not even enough to get drunk on," she let out a sigh. "Truly depressing." Despite her words she was smiling like she had a plan. He was almost afraid to ask.

"I know that smile and I don't like it. You had that same exact smile on your face right before you decided that it was a good idea to kill the dragon in the Bone Pit…"

"I think it's time for us to settle down somewhere. Find work. Get respectable and all."

"Now I really wish we had enough money to buy ourselves a couple of drinks."

She made good on her threat in the next small town they stumbled upon. It was called Finnegan and situated somewhere north on the Wounded Coast. It was a nice enough place, not too big, not too small. It had a tavern, the Golden Goose, a nice little town square, some shops and the people living there were also fairly decent.

Also it was far enough from Kirkwall for people not to recognize them, though the rumours of the Champion of Kirkwall had probably even reached that sleepy little town. So Hawke decided it was best to introduce herself by a false name from now on, while Varric surprisingly decided not to be that inventive and kept his name, claiming that he would only be referred to in tales about her heroics as "the noble dwarf that accompanied Hawke" anyway.

Varric set up camp in the tavern immediately, doing what he always did best. It started out with a couple of favours, he solved little problems for people. Then, pretty much around the end of their first week in Finnegan, while Hawke was still wondering what to do with herself, Varric had already established himself as the secret "problem solver" of Finnegan. The to-go-to-guy when you were in trouble. Generally known as the person that was suavely pulling the threads in the background. To an outsider, it might have looked like he was doing nothing at all, expect for drinking and chatting to people, but she knew better than to fall pray to misconception. He always seemed to bounce back on his feet, just like a cat. She was starting to feel rather envious.

After having felt sorry for herself for an entire week, she decided to put her skills to work the way she knew best. During her first year in Kirkwall she had been working as a mercenary, a hired blade, that did as she was asked. Those days were over, of course and people in Finnegan didn't have much use for that kind of work. It was a quiet, peaceful little town after all. What they did need, however, was another recruit for the city guards.

When she came home (thanks to Varric's exploits they were allowed to use two rooms in the tavern as their own personal quarters) that night proudly carrying her new uniform over her arm, her dwarven companion doubled over with laughter at the mere sight of it.

"Apparently you're rather determined to take after Aveline. She would be so proud," he teased.

"What's wrong with that?" she asked slightly miffed.

"You do remember you started out in Lowtown doing slightly illegal things for a man called Meran? Just be careful you don't have to arrest yourself one day."

"Ha ha! Very funny!"

"It is. It is," he made a mock toast with his tankard in her direction which she was half tempted to empty over his stupid head momentarily.

She quickly adapted to her new routine as part of the city guard. Of course, it was a rather quiet life compared to the one she had let in Kirkwall. Crime in Finnegan was low. The most outrages things that happened were occasional thefts. Sometimes a couple of chickens or a cow was stolen, but that was about it.

Her colleagues were pleasant enough. There was the guard captain Roderick, a man around fifty, maybe even sixty and his son Dominic who was around her age. Dominic and she sometimes did the night shift. They always had a ball, walking the streets together at night chattering and laughing and when she stopped by at Varric's place after her shift she always was in high spirits. At first he seemed genuinely happy for her, but as her night shifts with Dominic became a rule and she talked more and more enthusiastically about her fellow guard, he grew more and more quiet and reserved whenever the topic of the other man came up. If she didn't know any better she would have said he was jealous.

At first she simply dismissed the thought, but it kept coming back to her to the point where it started to haunt her and kept her awake at night. The idea that Varric was interested in her that way, was just too odd, but also fascinating, so fascinating indeed that she spend more and more time thinking about it. She even started to purposefully make comments about Dominic to be able to gage his reaction. It didn't happen out of cruelty or because she was toying with his feeling. It was just that there was too much on the line. She had to be sure before she did anything. She didn't want to endanger their friendship of years by making stupid assumptions.

So one evening they were sitting across the table from each other again in Varric's private suite in the tavern, the tavern she had by now moved out of, in favour of a small cottage near the sea. As usual she had come to see him after her shift with Dominic. But today things were different. She was able to tell immediately from the way he looked at her when he opened the door for her.

Since she had come in they had not talked much. He was currently busy thoughtfully staring into the tankard he was holding in his hand. She let out a sigh. He didn't react, so she in turn busied herself with looking around the room she had seen every evening for the last two months. It occurred to her only now that it had a rather odd resemblance with Varric's suite back in the Hanged Man, except for the lack of dwarven furniture, of course. She was about to say something, but he beat her to it.

"So, Hawke, I need your advice on something…" He sounded serious so she immediately perked her ears and listened.

"What is it?" She asked interestedly.

"There's this woman..." He didn't finish the sentence, but it was clear what he meant. The suggestive tone of his voice enraged her. And he even had the nerve to look at her intently as if he was waiting for her reaction. She did her best to suppress her feelings, because her initial reaction was flight. She didn't want to hear about that. But she couldn't just jump out of her seat and run away. It would look suspicious. So she tried to conceal her real emotions behind words.

"You need advice about a woman? From me?" she did her best to sound incredulous. "Aren't you supposed to be quite the ladies' man? I'm sure you can handle your own."

"Nice of you to say, Hawke. But this isn't just any regular woman. Somebody special."

She hadn't felt that sick in a long time. Like someone had punched her in the stomach. The vehemence of her reaction even surprised herself. She had only been flirting with the thought of feeling something for Varric, but now it began to dawn on her that her feelings were probably more than just some fleeting fancy. It was terrifying. She wanted to get out of here. She needed to get out of here immediately, so she got to her feet.

"Sit, Hawke," he ordered her and without much thought she complied. Maybe because it was the stern tone of his voice, maybe it was just that she was too weak to run.

He took a breath as if he wanted to continue, but before he could say anything she interrupted him. "I don't want to hear about it!" she blurted out. Afraid to look at him, she averted her eyes.

"You don't want to hear about it?" he voice sounded quizzical. He pushed back the chair and got up. "So you don't want me to be happy?" His voice sounded closer now. He was walking towards her. The table wasn't that big. Two steps and he would be standing in front of her. Her eyes wandered towards the door longingly.

"Of course, I want you to be happy. It's just…well maybe you shouldn't come to me of all people asking for advice on love."

"Why?"

"If you have to know… I feel uncomfortable talking about this with you." There was a sour note to her voice.

"Uncomfortable? Now that's curious." He was now standing in front of her casually leaning against the edge of the table, his arms crossed over his chest. Her heart was hammering inside her chest like crazy. What was she supposed to tell him? That she was insanely jealous of that other woman whoever she might be?

Maybe he was able to read her thoughts because his next question was spot-on. "Could it be that maybe you're jealous?" The tone of his voice was nonchalant. It was up to her to interpret the true meaning behind his words. Was he merely joking or being serious? She felt helpless.

While she was still struggling to find the right answer to his question, a struggle which was probably clearly visible on her face, he seemed to be amused by the whole scenario. "Why don't you admit it already?" he added after a while. The smile on his lips could be best described as complacent.

Just looking at him smiling like that was enough to make her angry. "Alright, I'm jealous. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The smile disappeared from his lips and made room to entirely different expression on his face. Surprise? Relief? He took one step closer, now invading her personal space. The hem of his duster was brushing the legs of her trousers. She could see the light of the candles reflecting in his pupils.

"Yes, that's what I wanted to hear."

She blanched.

"Because that's how I've been feeling for the last couple of months. Well, up until the moment I asked some questions about dear Dominic, of course." She sucked in her breath. Had he been spying on her? Of course, he had. He had always managed to know everything important there was to know back in Kirkwall, a town thrice the size of Finnegan, so this was a piece of cake to him. "Turns out he's not that interested in women after all. Seems to be differently inclined, it appears. More leaning towards his own sex," Varric finished triumphantly.

Upon hearing this, she unceremoniously punched his arm. "Ouch!" He rubbed the spot, shooting her an indignant look.

"You deserved that," she clarified.

"Maybe," he admitted. "And so did you, Hawke. What is this to you? Some kind of game?"

She drew in a shaky breath. "No."

"No?" he asked in a serious tone of voice.

"No," she said again shyly.

It was strange how his close proximity made her nervous and jittery. He was now standing in front of her, one hand on the right armrest of her chair, the other on the left. There was no escape.

"Well, looked at the bright side. At least I didn't give you Copper Marigolds," she tried to joke.

"Marigolds, hm?" he smirked at her. "It would have been a tad more obvious than trying to get me jealous. You're not very good at this, are you?"

"Not with you, I'm not," she admitted softly.

"So what does that mean?"

"It means…" she finally found the courage to look at him. The words died in her mouth when her eyes met his. All she could do, was stare at him helplessly. Next thing she knew was that she saw him move, felt his hand on her cheek, his lips on hers. The kiss was not wild and passionate, but slow and chaste and only lasted a couple of seconds. Not enough time to register every sensation she felt, the feeling of his lips on hers, his warmth. She felt robbed. She wanted more.

"You're shaking."

She held her hand in front of her face. Her fingers were trembling. "Yes, I am."

"Good or bad?" For the first time she knew him he looked unsure of himself.

"Good." She reached for the collars of his duster and pulled him closer again. He smirked. Their second kiss lasted considerably longer and was also considerably less innocent than their first. They took their time learning each others mouths, exploring and teasing until they both had to come up for air eventually.

She was slightly out of breath, feeling light-headed and basically too incoherent to speak. He was standing across from her leaning against the table trying to look suave, while unsuccessfully fighting down the goofy smile that was threatening to spread on his face. She couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Wow! This was…I don't know what this was, but it felt fantastic. We should have done this sooner. Why haven't we done this sooner?" she said finally.

"No idea," he shrugged. "Probably because we were both stubborn, stupid and blind."

"Yep, you might be onto something there."

He laughed. She liked his laughter. It was warm and genuine. It occurred to her that in the last couple of years she had not nearly heard it often enough. It also occurred to her that she wanted to do nothing more than to kiss him again. Kiss him senseless, kiss him until his head was spinning. What cheesy thoughts! Unexpectedly cheesy, but still true.

Maybe it was the expression on her face, maybe it was the something in her eyes that communicated her desire to him, because he started moving in again. An earlier piece of conversation resurfaced from her consciousness, something important. She had to ask before this could progress any further. His forward motion was stopped by her hand at his chest. He looked down at it in wonder.

"What?"

"There is no other woman, is there?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"I was talking about you," he looked at her sincerely punctuating every single word of the sentence clearly.

His words from earlier floated back to her mind. She smiled. "Someone special?"

"You know anyone more special than yourself, princess?"

"What's Bianca going to say about that?"

"Well, she'll have to suck it up. She's not half as pretty as you are."

They kissed again. His hands were tangled in her hair, softly massaging the nape of her neck, while hers had snug under his duster, roaming his back. Their bodies were pressed against each other. Close, but not close enough. It was starting to become very clear where this was going. Her heart rate sped up and she could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest as well.

"Slow down, Hawke," he said softly in between kisses. "We should slow down."

Of course, he was right and she hated it. She leaned her forehead against his, trying to catch her breath. There was no way she was going to be able to resist him if she stayed. "Maybe I should go."

"Maybe not." His stubble pleasantly rubbed against her skin as he kissed her jaw just below her ear. A pleasant shudder ran down her spine, partly due to the proximity of his velvety voice to her ear, partly because he had just instinctively guessed on of the most sensitive spots of her body.

She made an incoherent sound. He smirked against her skin.

"What was that?"

"You're torturing me. This is not slow. This is hell." Her voice sounded husky.

"Why?"

"Because it's…," she shivered slightly as his breath tickled the shell of her ear, "It's too good. If you do this again my knees will probably turn to jelly instantly and there will be no way I'm walking home any time soon."

"Good."

"Haven't you said something about taking it slow just now?"

He sighed and disentangled himself from her. "Yes, unfortunately." She laughed at the disappointed look on his face that bore remarkable resemblance to a rather genuine pout. However, his mood quickly changed again from disappointed to mischievous in only a matter of seconds. "But just for the record you've just given me some very dangerous information, princess." He tabbed his temple with his index finger. "To be stored away for later use."

Later when he was walking her home, he had insisted on doing so because he couldn't possible assume the responsibility of her falling off the nearby cliffs in her current love-stricken state, as he charmingly had put it, she asked him about that new nickname he had given her.

He had been evasive, postponing the inevitable answer to her question until the moment they had to say goodbye. The birds were already chirping in the nearby trees and the dim hallow of light of rising sun was starting to delineate on the horizon. They were standing at her doorstep. He was holding her hands in his.

"This is goodnight then, princess. Or should I rather say good morning?"

She smiled at him. "I like this new endearment. I was always kind of jealous you didn't come up with one for me before. But why princess? Aren't princesses supposed to be conceited and spoiled?"

"Who said you weren't?" He could not possible pass up on a chance to tease her? Not if she gave him an opening like that.

"Now you have to tell me to make up for what you've just said," she smiled sweetly at him. The way she always smiled at him when she wanted something.

"Not all princesses are spoiled brats. There are also the ones that are noble, beautiful and courageous," he explained.

"And which kind do you think me to be?"

"Difficult to say," he grinned. "Give me some time to figure it out."

"You know, I once read a fairy tale as a child where the princess kisses a frog and he becomes a prince. It seems that when you kiss a dwarf he only becomes cheekier."

Varric chuckled amusedly. "Well, I have a feeling you rather like cheeky."

"Maybe. Give me some time to find out."

He mockingly covered his heart with his hands. The moment passed. Their smiles slowly faded. It was time to go.

He took her hand in his, raised it to his mouth and kissed it. Then without another word he turned around and walked away. She didn't enter her house until she saw him disappear in the distance. When she entered a smile was still on her face. She hadn't been as happy as this in a very long time. Maybe never. Unfortunately that kind of happiness has the bad habit of not lasting too long.


	6. No more running

She heard a knock at the door. At first tentative, then more assertive. It couldn't be Varric, right? Because that would be silly. They had only been apart for a couple of minutes. Nevertheless her heart was fluttering excitedly inside her chest when she reached for the door handle.

Dominic was standing outside her door, his chest rising in falling heavily in rapid intervals. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and he was holding his sides. He must have run all the way from his house in the town centre to hers which was situated on the outskirts of town. And though it was only a two mile run and it was in good shape, he would have had to run like a horde of Darkspawn had been chasing him to be out of breath like that.

"Dominic…," she started.

"Leandra…," he wheezed. He was holding something in his hand she noticed only now. It was a crumbled up piece of paper. She snatched it out of his grasp unceremoniously. It felt warm and a little bit moist, probably from his sweat, but when she looked at it more closely she blanched. On it there was a drawing, a rather accurate one, of her likeness and underneath it there were the words 'wanted for questioning' together with her name and the promise of a rather substantial reward.

While she stood there gaping with her mouth open, Dominic had found his voice again. "Your name is not really Leandra Vallen, is it?"

"No," she answered softly. There was no point in lying anymore.

"You should leave. Right away," he informed her, looking over his shoulder anxiously. She waved him in and closed the door behind him.

"What happened, Dominic?" she asked, growing more and more alarmed by the second.

"Some people arrived here this morning. They started asking strange questions. Hell, the practically shoved that warrant in our faces. We didn't tell them a thing," he straightened up proudly when he said it. Marian let out a sigh of relief and quickly hugged her friend, but her relief was only short-lived because his next words unsettled her a great deal once. "I started running once they were out of sight. But you have to leave. You know how this place is. Someone will start blabbering eventually."

"Leave?" The news slowly started to sink in. She didn't have much time. She was already looking around, trying to decide what to pack and what to leave behind when another thought knocked the wind straight out of her sails. "Varric," she said.

"I'm sorry, Le…Marian. I don't know anything about him. Haven't seen him since yesterday."

"We have to warn him!" She was already preparing herself to leave, rushing towards the door.

"You can't go into town." Dominic stepped in her way, effectively hindering her from walking through the door. "Not now."

"Let me pass!" She tried to stare him down. It had been a long time since she had felt that passionate about something. If he didn't let her go she would have to knock him out. It had been a couple of months, maybe a year since she last knocked someone out cold, but she had no doubt she could still manage it. Her anger and worry would doubtlessly put enough force behind the punch.

"I doubt that this is what Varric would want you to do."

"You think?" Her voice was venomous.

"I know. Don't you guys have an emergency plan for a situation like that? Varric doesn't strike me as the type of person that doesn't take precautions for every eventuality."

She realized that momentarily her panic had gotten the better of her, but now her thoughts were starting to calm down. Her head was clearing. There had actually been a conversation revolving around that particular topic. Of course it had not been a pleasant topic and she had been trying hard to forget all about.

One evening, a couple of months back, after three pints of ale Varric had started talking about a fail-safe plan they could fall back on in case the Seekers would ever manage to find them. She hadn't wanted to hear about it then. Just like she never wanted to think or talk about a future involving the Seekers catching up with them. Nevertheless, he had continued talking and right now she was thankful for his stubbornness and persistency. It was all starting to come back to her. He had actually said something about running away and meeting up at some place a couple of miles down the coast. She remembered how he had repeated the most important parts of the plan to her over and over again to make sure she wouldn't forget. "He mentioned something," she finally said hesitantly.

"Then you should get going now. I'll help you back up the most important things and then you'll disappear. They could be here any minute now."

They managed to hastily assemble some vital articles of clothing and supplies they unceremoniously stuffed into her backpack. Barnaby, her Mabari stood by observing everything with a curious look on his face, commenting on the happenings with an occasional pitiful whine. He was smart enough to understand they were leaving and that it was happening against the explicit wish of his mistress.

Before she left she hugged Dominic for a last time. "Thank you so much," she said fully conscious of the fact that this might have been last time she ever got to see or speak to her friend. Then she left.

* * *

><p>She let out a long-drawn exhale. After what felt like an eternity she was finally able to acknowledge the truth. She had spent the whole night sitting there on this rock by the sea waiting for him, but he hadn't shown. She had listened closely for every movement, every sound in the dark, but nothing. Now she was finally able to admit to the suspicion she had been harbouring for several hours now. "He's not coming."<p>

"He's not coming," she said one more time. Now would have been the time to cry. This was the low point, rock bottom. But she didn't cry. Not now. So many times before she had been weak, but this was her moment of epiphany. The path before her delineated clearly. This was the fork in the road. This was one of those defining moments of which she had already experienced so many in her comparatively short lifetime.

She could either continue running like she had been ever since Kirkwall, without any sense of direction or purpose or she could stop and finally face up to reality. In the last couple of months she had learned many things about herself. That she wasn't unbreakable, that she wasn't as brave and strong as she liked to pretend. She was human. The losses she had experienced had scared her deeply as had the betrayal of her friends, but she wasn't a quitter.

She had put herself back together again. Like a broken vase that had been fixed she was whole again, but different, which wasn't bad as such, it just took some getting used to. The fork in the road shrunk down to one straight, but rocky path that started delineating in front of her mind's eye more and more clearly with every second that passed. There was ultimately only one choice she wanted to make, could make. She chose complication, she chose having to face up to the consequences of her action, but above all she chose not to leave Varric behind. How could she have after all that had happened? He trusted her. And he was the one she trusted. Maybe even trusted with her heart. But if she kept on running now, she would never be able to forgive herself, never be able to tell what those feelings she had for him really were. She got up with a sigh and started walking.

It was midday when she got back to Finnegan. The streets of the little town were like they were every day - idyllic and deceptively peaceful. Only now people put their heads together when she passed them by. The hood of her cloak was casting shadows on her face, so it made it impossible for anyone to read the impression on her face, but she was recognized nevertheless. After all she had walked those streets for nearly half a year and of course the Mabari was also a dead give away.

She got to the tavern without anyone stepping in her way and she knew like she had known back when she had first started walking that this was a trap, especially set up for her. The only consolation was that nobody wanted to kill her. At least not straight away. Pleasant change from the usual routine. There was a moment a hesitation. Her hand briefly hovered over the door handle. In that single moment she tried to put her thoughts into order. It was important that she kept her emotions in check. If she didn't remember that one important rule she would give her enemy an unfair advantage. 'Focus, Marian! Focus!' she told herself in her head over and over again.

She finally, after what seemed like an eternity, stepped into the tavern and was immediately engulfed by the trademark aroma every tavern in Ferelden possessed. Its smell was a mixture of alcohol, food and sweat. After her eyes had adjusted to the comparatively dim light inside the building she was able to assess the situation. The usual patrons were all gone. There were three bulky man standing at the bar, a forth was stepping up behind her once she had fully entered, blocking the exit. Varric was occupying his usual table which seemed slightly surreal given the circumstances. There was a woman with short, dark hair sitting next to him. They were engulfed in some sort of conversation, which was not going too well judging by their raised voices. Whatever argument they had it stopped once they noticed Marian. The woman seemed highly pleased to see her, while Varric's reaction to her unexpected arrival was less unequivocal. There was a brief flicker of an emotion she wasn't able to decipher in his eyes, then it was gone again.

She pushed back her hood, trying her best to sound slightly laconic and nonchalant when she spoke next. "Really, Varric? Getting captured for a second time? You're getting sloppy." Her words were oddly reminiscent of their meeting a couple of months back, when he first came to warn her about the Seekers.

The irony of that didn't seem to escape him either. He smirked. "What can I say, Hawke? We dwarves are not known for our running skills." He gave her an apologetic shrug.

That was when the other woman decided to take part in the conversation. A faint trace of her Orlesian accent was clearly audible when she spoke. "So you're the famous Marian Hawke. Glad to finally meet you. My name is Cassandra Pentaghast." She held out her hand to Marian.

Hawke didn't show the slightest inclination to take it. She looked at the outstretched hand with what could best be described as suspicion. A male voice behind her suddenly ribbed her out of her reverie. "Before you even think of moving, put down your weapons."

She gave the man, some brute the seize of a tree with hands like shovels, a brief glance over her shoulder. "I came here willingly. Now you think I'm going to do something as stupid as attacking you?"

"Yes."

She sighed and reached for her daggers. Half the room immediately tensed up. "Relax I'm going to hand them over without making a fuss." She did as promised, but not without feeling extremely uncomfortable about it.

She focused her attention back on Cassandra. Now that the reassurance of having her weapons at close reach was gone, Marian chose to cross her arms in front of her chest defensively. "Let's put aside the niceties. I think we can do without them. You were looking for me. Now here I am. What do you want?"

"What I want from you, Serrah Hawke, is much easier said than done. First of all I want an explanation for the happening in Kirkwall. I already got one from your friend. But a first hand report of events would be nice…"

"I can imagine." Hawke had slowly started to walk closer. One of Cassandra's underlings had taken a hold of Barnaby's collar, thereby effectively hindering the dog from following her every step she took - another thing among many, many others that irritated her about the whole situation.

"Secondly and that's the hard part, I want you to help make things right again."

Upon hearing that, despite the direness of the situation, Hawke actually had to laugh, a loud and booming laughter. The kind where you throw back your head and which actually comes from the depths of her belly. It didn't matter to her that everyone else was staring at her like a lunatic, except for Varric who was watching her inappropriate display of amusement with a crooked smirk on his face. What this woman had just asked of her was just too absurd.

"I fail to see the humour in my request," Cassandra interjected after a while.

"I'm sorry." Marian brushed a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. She was still trying hard to suppress the amused grin on her face and only temporarily succeeding. "But if you had seen what I have seen, lived the life I have led, you would find your request amusing, too."

"I highly doubt that. Hundreds have died in Kirkwall."

Marian's face immediately turned serious. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I tried everything I could to prevent that?" Marian had initially intended to leave it at that, but her temper got the better of her. "You have no idea! I tried and tried time and again to get those people to sit down together, but nobody listened. Nobody would. Knight-Commander Meredith accused the mages of blood magic, Orsino accused the templars of being blood-thirsty butchers and the Revered Mother just stood by and mumbled something about not being able to interfere. I did everything I could. I did everything! And in the end my everything just wasn't enough, because things started spiralling out of control. So don't you tell me about the hundreds of people who died. Because I know. I know all too well..." Her voice died down. It had initially been strong and assertive. The more she had talked, the more emotional, the louder it had become. But by the end of her little speech it had started to crack and because of that she had ultimately decided to remain silent and limit herself to just glaring at her vis-à-vis angrily.

Cassandra seemed unfazed by Hawke's outburst. At least it appeared to be like that. "So all the more reason to set things right."

"What would you have me do?" Hawke asked after a while. Her voice sounded drained, almost resigned. "Things have already been set into motion. It's too late to stop anything now."

"We have several trouble spots here in Fereldan. We could use your help there."

"And what should I do there? You know that I'm no diplomat."

"True, but you are the Champion of Kirkwall after all. That title carries a certain weight."

Hawke let out a long drawn sigh. Cassandra was right. It was not easy acknowledging it, but it was true. She suddenly felt very tired. She sat down on the chair nearest to her. This talk was exhausting her more than she liked to admit.

"Let's assume I agree to this…," Cassandra was about to reply something to that, but Hawke raised her finger admonishingly, indicating that she wanted to continue, "There are certain terms..."

"Like what?" The Seeker inquired.

"If you want retribution for what one of my former companions did, I'm not the one who's going to administer it."

"You mean Anders?"

"Yes," Marian hesitated. Her eyes were scrutinizing the other woman's face. She had yet to figure out whether she could trust her or not. Apparently Varric had been very thorough in telling her tale. Damn him! Now she wished he'd glossed over certain parts of her history. She felt slightly disadvantaged, knowing so little about the other woman. "Yes, I mean Anders," she finally said with a little more determination.

Cassandra hesitated which was understandable given the fact that they were talking about someone who had single-handedly killed hundreds of people. "Fine," she said finally.

Hawke said nothing, only nodded and looked away.

"You're probably going to need some time. Talk it over with your friend," Cassandra suggested after a while, motioning with a nod of her head at Varric who had surprisingly remained silent through out the whole exchange.

Marian looked up. Hers and Varric's eyes met for the second time since she walked in. She had vastly tried to ignore his presence, because if she had looked at him she would have had to deal with her emotions. For the first time since she had stepped foot in the tavern, she let her guard down a little. Her gaze somewhat softened. The worst was over.

"How long?" Hawke finally asked.

"Till tomorrow morning," Cassandra informed her.

"And until then? Are you going to lock us up and bind us in chains?"

Cassandra actually smiled at that. "No, but we'll be close by."

"At the Chantry?"

"At the Chantry," she confirmed. "You're not going to do something stupid like running away, are you?" Cassandra added in an afterthought.

"No more running," Hawke assured her simply.


	7. Double Meaning

"So why did you have to come back, Hawke?" Varric asked her once they had closed the door to his suite behind them. She took the time to look around the room before she answered. Some of the chairs had been knocked over, there was a crossbow arrow sticking in the wall right next to the door. Obvious signs of a struggle. Luckily Varric seemed to be alright. She focused her attention back on him, him and his death glare that was directed at her. Apparently he really was alright. He still had the energy to be angry at her after everything. She had expected a different reaction. A less hostile one.

She shrugged her shoulders. "As I said before. No more running."

"And you absolutely had to come to this conclusion now of all times?" He looked up at her, shaking his had.

"Yes, what's wrong with it?"

"What's wrong with it, Hawke?" His nostril ever so subtly flared. He was getting worked up, she could tell. "What's wrong with it is that you could have been half way to Antiva by now…"

She just laughed. "Antiva's not really my thing."

"Not your thing?" he repeated angrily. "So being captured and having to do the Seekers every bidding is your new thing, right?"

He just didn't get it, did he? She was beginning to grow irritated as well. "No, I just don't like leaving behind my…" Now the next word was a tricky one. What was she supposed to say? Friend? Lover? She settled for something less univocal. "My dwarf. Besides when did running ever resolve anything?"

"Well, it helps to postpone the inevitable…Sometimes that's a good thing."

"Yeah, up until it running becomes a bad habit. I'm done with it. I've run all my life, remember? My father was an apostate, so we ran, my sister was too, so we ran, I killed the Knight-Commander of the Templars, so I ran. Starting to see the pattern there? That's enough running for a whole lifetime. I'm ready to face the inevitable." It felt good saying that, cathartic even, because it was true.

"Are you?" he looked surprised. Suddenly she was having the feeling that they were having two conversations at the same time, one on a rather obvious word-for-word level, the other on a rather more subtle and less explicit one.

"Is there something wrong with that? Do you want to keep running?" finally asked.

"As I said before, we dwarves? Not the best sprinters in the world. Besides I was just trying to keep up with you," he remarked casually. He took a breath. Clearly he was about to add another thing as an afterthought. But what was he to say? That even though seeing her here made him angry, because she had exposed herself to an enormous risk, he was at the same time extremely happy and relieved, she had returned for him? It was stupid really. Now what was that supposed to me? Was it love? It had to be. Seconds passed. The pause stretched on. He had yet to fill it with the adequate words, but even after several seconds, they just wouldn't come to him. A circumstance which made pretty much all casualness dissipate.

"What the infamous Varric Tethras at a loss for words?" she finally teased him with a triumphant smile on her face.

"I'm still deliberating my choice of words. That's different," he said grumpily.

"And what were you going to say, Master Tethras? I'm all ears."

"What I'm going to say depends on what the audience would like to hear."

"Suave."

"I know."

She gave him a curious little smile. He had a feeling she was onto him, but for now she seemed to be inclined to let him off the hook. She did, however, not stop teasing him. "Would you care to fill me in on a little thing that's peaked my interest? How were they able to catch you in the first place? You being the master spy you are?" She pointedly looked up at the arrow protruding from the wall.

"I was distracted at the time." He had decided to stay close to the truth at this point, even though it was embarrassing.

"Distracted? How unfortunate! However did that happen?" she flashed him a devilish smile.

"You know fully well."

"No, I really don't," she said her voice a little lower now. Its tone, equally vulnerable and seductive, was a challenge to its willpower. But she still owed him some answers. He wouldn't give in yet.

"Why did you really come back?" he asked again.

"Why were you distracted?" she retorted without missing a beat.

He smiled deflecting the question. Marian did the same.

"You're terrible," she finally said resignedly. The way her eyes sparkled at him told him, however, that she thought him to be anything other than terrible.

"I'm afraid I can only reciprocate the compliment."

"Well," she sighed in mock annoyance. "Since this conversation is getting us nowhere shall I distract you some more?" She grinned, already moving closer without waiting for his answer. The answer was already there in his eyes anyways. The way he looked at her made her whole body tingle with anticipation.

"I wouldn't mind," he said simply.

They kissed with a fierceness that hadn't been there before. Maybe the anxiety of the last couple of hours was to blame for it, maybe also the fact that had come very close to admitting their feeling to each other was also a factor in it. But there can also be such a thing as maybe too much enthusiasm when a height difference is involved. He pulled her closer, she leaned forward, and as a result they lost balance and fell to the floor.

"Are you alright?" she asked him worriedly. After all she had just landed on top of him with her entire weight.

"Ow!" he smiled at her his devilish, incorrigible smile. Its effects were devastating to her especially that up close. "A kiss to make it better?"

She kissed him. The kiss grew deeper. It was becoming increasingly difficult to form coherent thoughts, also because his hands had travelled from her back to her front. "We…we have to…," she managed to get out in between kisses. Her voice sounded husky.

"What do we have to?" He stopped kissing her and looked at her.

"We have to talk." She was glad she had managed to get the words out. Because at this point, being in a pleasant hormone induced daze, she wasn't even sure she could walk.

"Can't that wait?" He kissed that spot on her jar right next to her earlobe. The one she had told him was her weak spot. He was cheating. Goosebumps were running down her spine.

"Stop that!" she said with a little more vehemence than necessary. She was not only chastising him, but also herself. Because if they didn't stop now, they would end up rushing into things without knowing where they were standing. Now if he were any other man, if she were any other woman, maybe she would have said screw sensible approach, but she didn't want to ruin what they had. She couldn't get it wrong with him. She couldn't get her heart broken again. She was not sure she was ready to deal with lovesickness again after all that she had been through.

He raised his hands, as if to say 'I'm stopping', and just limited himself to smirking at her. She couldn't help but feel relieved. He understood.

She slowly got up and once she was on her feet she held out her hand to him. He took it and raised himself to a standing position as well, a standing position that brought him face to face with her cleavage.

"Nice view," he commented whistling through his teeth appreciatively.

She gave him a stern look and walked around the table, a move which put some space between them and was in addition supposed to give her the opportunity to reclaim the ability of thinking clearly again, because she needed to be able to do that if they were going to have that particular conversation.

He sighed. "So it's going to be like this then, huh?"

She put up the chair again and looked at him pointedly. "Take it slow, remember? Your words. Now let's sit and talk."

"Alright, alright," he raised his hands defensively. "But would you rather I were indifferent to you?"

"No, of course not. Believe me, I'm far from indifferent to you as well."

"Is that why you put the table between us?"

"Yep, safe distance."

"I see."

So they sat down opposite of each other. A couple of seconds passed without her saying anything. She smiled at him apologetically. "I'm sorry. This isn't easy."

"I'm here. I'm listening. And I'm not going anywhere," he told her with a reassuring smile.

There was no easy way to start this conversation. But she did have to start somehow. "Remember the conversation you had with Fenris once? About opinions and such?" she asked somewhat abruptly.

"Not particularly."

"The one were you compared opinions to testicles?"

He chuckled. "Funny how your mind works… Now why'd you remember that particular bit of conversation?"

"Because it was pretty memorable. You said something along the lines 'opinions are like testicles. You kick them hard enough, doesn't matter how many you got.'"

"I really said that?" He looked impressed and also highly amused. "You're right it's pretty memorable. Maybe I should write that done somewhere. Sound advice for later generations."

"Varric," she sighed in mock exasperation, which was clearly what it was because she was having a hard time suppressing a grin, "I'm trying to make a point here."

"Sorry." He leaned forward in his chair conspiratorially. His eyes twinkled at her in amusement. "Piece of advice? You want to have a serious conversation? Maybe you should drop the testicle analogy."

"Right. Maybe I shouldn't," she said with a sigh. "Because that…," she threw him a nervous grin, "…would be pretty awkward, especially given the fact that I was trying to work up the courage to ask you whether you'd still prefer to have no opinion at all about the whole templar-mage dilemma." She had rushed to the end of the sentence, an indication of the touchiness of the whole situation. He knew better than to make a joke now.

"Because you working for the Seekers would require me having some sort of opinion on the whole topic?"

"Exactly," she paused briefly. He could tell she was having a hard time getting the next words over her lips. She was even avoiding making eye contact. "That is if you still wanted to stick around."

"I do want to stick around." There was no hesitation on his side.

She raised her head to look at him. There was that brilliant smile, that rare one he had come to appreciate over the last months, because it was unguarded and genuine and she trusted him enough to let him see her like that. "Really?"

"Really," he confirmed.

"Why do you…," she stopped, trying to summon up enough courage to end the sentence. "Why do you keep sticking around?"

"Do you really have to ask that?" His voice was tender and thick with emotions.

"Well, I do have a suspicion there," she smiled at him shyly.

He got up and walked over to her. When he stood in front of he took her hands in his. They were cold and slightly sweaty. This was affecting her as much as him, he realized. She looked at him questioningly. Maybe what they both needed right now was a little more levity.

"And here I was thinking you were a bit dense. I mean if you haven't realized it by now…," upon hearing him say those words, her left hand twitched. He knew that she wanted to do nothing more than swat him on the shoulder with it right now, but he had seen that one coming. That was part of the reason why he had taken her hands in his in the first place.

"Yeah, you're just after a tumble in between the sheets…," she teased.

"Exactly," he rolled his eyes at her. "That's why I've invested several years into foreplay. Got injured, beaten and singed a couple of times while I was chasing after you." She actually giggled at that. He tugged at her hands. She got up.

"Have I mentioned that this is an exceedingly nice view?" he smirked up at her after he had ogled her cleavage for several seconds.

"And here we go again. Case and point. Tumble in between the sheets," she was smiling at him good-naturedly.

"What if it's love?" His voice was different now, devoid of any teasing.

She looked at him unblinkingly for a moment as the realization hit her. He had just, in his own way, told her that he loved her.

"That would be wonderful," she said finally.

He smiled and then kissed her.


	8. Extraordinary

They kissed. It was different than before. Maybe less playful and wild, but significantly more tender. This kissed revealed a side of him to her she had not known before and that she could best describe with adjectives like loving, patient and kind. Qualities she wouldn't have necessarily associated with him a few months back, prior to his unexpected return to her side.

A couple of seconds after they pulled apart her eyes were still closed. Only his soft, but not unkind laughter brought her back to reality.

"That good?"

She let out a soft hum of approval. Right now she wasn't in the mood for teasing. She was in the mood for more kissing. Maybe even more than just kissing. Because that was the direction they had been headed for before their talk. Just thinking that particular thought caused her heart to skip a beat before its beating sped up considerably. It had been a long time for her. And then there was also the fact that he had once told her that he only liked dwarven woman. True, he had said that a few years back, and it was probably no longer important, given the fact that he had just come very close to confessing his love to her, but the thought alone still didn't do much to quiet her nerves in that particular moment.

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" he asked. Sometimes she wished he was a little less observant.

She flashed him a shy grin. "I'm just nervous."

"About what?" His hand was tracing up and down her left side. And even though she was in her armor and couldn't feel his touch, just seeing the movement of his hand and being at the receiving end of a look that could best be described as smoldering was very distracting.

Despite of the pleasant hormone induced daze she was currently experiencing, her brain was somehow still able to realize what he was doing. He knew exactly what she was talking about. Of course, he did. He was trying to distract her, make her relax. But beyond that he was also teasing her. Well, two could play that game.

Her finger was slightly shaky when it ghosted over the chain around his neck, or to be more precise, very slowly traced a parallel line to it on his skin. "I've always wanted to do this, you know," she said in a low voice. Her finger wandered deeper, tracing a line down his chest.

"I wouldn't have stopped you," he said simply before he pulled her closer to kiss her fiercely.

Somehow he managed to expertly maneuver her over to his bed. She only noticed where she was when the back of her legs bumped into the bed frame. She let out a delighted little laugh. He smirked in response and gave her a soft push, which made her fall down on the mattress behind her. He followed suit, immediately starting to busy himself with alternately unbuckling her armor and kissing her senseless. His nimble fingers swiftly peeled away layer after layer until she lay before him in only her smallclothes.

Although there was still some fabric covering her, she felt naked, maybe because in many ways this was already more intimate than any other sexual encounters she had had. The expression in his eyes was gentle and curious. His gaze was fixed on her as he let his fingers run over her body. There was a strange sense of wonder to his touch. It was almost reverent. Like he was learning her body and wanted to know how it would react to his every touch.

"Your first time with…," she faltered and sucked in her breath as his fingers traced her ribcage. The feeling of them caressing her skin was simply too distracting.

His eyes met hers. There was no mocking there. What she saw in them was only sincerity, perhaps even a considerable amount of vulnerability. "With a human woman?" he finished the sentence for her.

She nodded, biting her lower lip.

"No." There was the hint of a smile on his lips as he bent down to kiss the spot right next to her navel. Maybe he thought her naïve for asking a question like that, but she had no time to comment on it, let alone get angry. His lips connected with her skin again and sent goose bumps down her spine. A little sigh escaped her lips. "But the first time it's more than just sex with one of them."

If his touch wouldn't be her undoing, his words would certainly do the trick. He seemed to be aware of that too as he smiled against her skin and took the opportunity to press on more kiss to her belly.

"Tease," she cited him.

"Guilty on all accounts. But you rather seem to enjoy it." His face was now on level with hers again, probably because he knew that the effect of his roguish grin was more devastating up close.

She groaned in frustration and finally lost her patience with him, unceremoniously flipping him over with her legs. The maneuver was enough to shut him up. And she made sure it stayed that way by crushing her lips to his. Shortly after his duster landed on the floor next to the bed, followed by his tunic.

She undressed him quickly, driven by the desire to feel his skin against hers, but as her eyes fell on his naked upper body she slowed down. Even with his clothes on, she had always suspected he would be muscular, maybe a bit bulkier than the few other lovers she had known.

That suspicion was now verified. This was not the first time she saw him with his shirt off, but the last time she had been treating his injury and it would have been highly inappropriate to ogle him. Contrary to back then, now she was free to let her fingers run over her chest, so she did. The gesture was initially more exploratory than erotic. She was taking in the way his body felt under her touch, all warm and muscular. Soon she had to add another adjective to the list – enticing. Touching him was addictive.

She realized to her own surprise that she quite liked his chest hair, something Isabela had often made mocking comments about. She didn't feel like mocking him. Not at all. She wanted to know his body better, the way it would react to her touch, so she experimentally ran her fingernails down his torso, not enough to actually scratch him, but enough to tease him. An action he seemed to highly approve of. That much she could tell from the way he sucked in his breath and his fingers flexed involuntarily, digging into linens of the bed.

Now it was her turn to smirk. "You do like that, don't you?"

"Maybe," his voice was husky and low and almost made her shiver. "Why don't you try again and see how it goes…" His tone was as suggestive as was the look in his eyes that had grown dark with desire.

She swallowed. Her fingertip briefly hovered indecisively over his collar bone, then lowered itself to his skin. Before she could execute the motion his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down on top of him.

What happened next she could later only describe as flashes of sensory input: touches, moans, quickened breathing, closeness, desire, warmth, screams, ecstasy, in short an experience that could well turn out to be best of her life.

Later they were lying next to each other, exhausted but sated. Their hands were still entwined. She turned her head to look at him. He looked content, content and disheveled. Most strands of hair had escaped from the band that usually held together his sleek ponytail. She reached out and pulled the leather string from his hair.

He propped his head up on his elbow and turned to look at her with a smile on his face. "Now that was quite something."

His hair was hanging around his face. It made him look younger than he was and softened his angular features somewhat.

"Indeed," she sighed. "So what now?"

"I'm going to compose awful poetry in you honor, of course, and lavish it on you," he said jokingly without missing a beat.

She laughed. "You do that, love." Her fingers tugged a strand of hair behind his ear, tracing the ear shell in the process.

"And I'm also going to try to keep you smiling like that for as long as I can," he added finally, his gaze full of earnest, trying to convey how heartfelt the promise behind his words was.

Upon hearing him say something like that her heart simply melted and she kissed him. It had been a long time since someone said such sweet things to her and meant them. His words made her feel joyful and silly. They made her feel much younger than she was and also led her to utter words that were silly and emotional and usually would have never passed her lips. "Sometimes I think I don't deserve you."

He turned to look at her, the expression in his eyes unusual serious. She was beginning to feel embarrassed about her words, a soft hue of pink spreading on her cheek. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Too mushy, too emotional…"

"No," his hand touched her cheek, "no," he repeated, fixing her with his eyes, "but maybe you should consider that it's actually the other way round. Because I'm just your run of the mill dwarf with an unhealthy fixation on ail and everything gold and shiny, whereas you're…well, you're Hawke."

Upon hearing his words, she immediately stopped worrying about what she had said. What concerned her more was the fact that underneath his façade of bravado there apparently seemed to be another side of him he never let anybody see. Maybe underneath his tough exterior there was someone less brazen who was probably not entirely immune to occasional flights of self-doubt. Could it be he didn't know how important he was to her? She needed to remedy that, preferably quickly.

"Run of the mill?" she raised an eyebrow. "Firstly, let me tell you, what we've just done? Anything other than run of the mill."

His mouth curved into a self-satisfied lopsided grin. "No kidding."

"And secondly," she scooted closer to him, draping her right leg over his possessively, "you're not just some dwarf. You're extraordinary. With your rakish good looks, your keen wit and your damned sexy voice," she emphasized each of those statements which were halfway between teasing and sincere with a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

"Very flattering. You sure know how to blow a guy's ego out of proportion, Hawke." His hand was tracing a lacy pattern up and down her thigh.

"And of course there is the fact that I love you. I wouldn't just go and fall in love with any run of the mill dwarf."

His hand stilled on her leg. He turned to look at her, all wide-eyed and speechless. She simply smiled at him encouragingly.

"There's a customary response to that," she supplied finally.

"Yes, I know. Just give it some time to sink in."

"As if that's news to you," she teased him.

He loved her for the fact that despite of him not having responded yet she stayed calm, to the point of actually sounding amused. She was perfect. And his. Something, he had the feeling, he would have to remind himself of quite frequently in the future.

Instead of a retort he faced her fully, pressing a lasting kiss to her lips. "I love you," he said. Simple words she knew to be true and meaningful because of the way he looked at her and the way his fingers softly caressed her cheek.


	9. Bad Idea

They had needed several tries to actually get as far as getting dressed. There had always been some kind of setback like, for example, him kissing her shoulder, her embracing him from behind and pulling him back into bed as soon as he made any attempt of getting up. So now being the wiser they had limited themselves you just casting each other lingering, meaningful glances.

"Could you buckle me up, please?" she turned her back to him, holding up her hair so he could, if he so chose, close the back of her leather armor properly. There was no answer, instead she could feel his hands working at the buckles only seconds later.

"You're sure you really want to go out there already, princess?"

She sighed. "No, but do you really want to rouse everybody's suspicion? That Cassandra looks like the type to hold a piece of vital information like that against us…"

"Well, I hate to spoil the fun, princess, but you going to my quarters in the middle of the night to never be seen again until the next morning might be a dead give away. Plus, our combined moans and screams coming through the thick wooden door, of course."

She aimlessly reached behind her back, trying to swat him, but he deftly evaded the blow. "Do you have to be that crude?"

"No, but it's part of my repertoire. Isn't that nice?" He flashed her a fake grin.

"I really hate you sometimes."

"I have it from good authority that you really don't," he said casually fastening the buckle he was working on currently a little bit more than necessary.

"Too tight," she wheezed.

"Don't worry. If you faint, I'll be there to catch you," he reassured her, already opening said buckle again.

"Not funny," she chastised him. "You'll pay for that tonight."

"Promises, promises, princess. I'd rather pay for it right now." She felt him pull her flush against him, his hands snuck around her waist, they started to travel downwards from there to finally settle on rubbing enticing circles on her thighs. Her pulse sped up.

She was about to give in, turn around to kiss him and drag him back to bed with her, had it not been for her damned sense of duty. She let out a frustrated groan and grabbed his hands to still them in their movement. "That bloody Orleasian has been pacing in front of the tavern for nearly have an hour now, remember? Better not keep her waiting anymore."

He sighed and let go of her very slowly and reluctantly. "Yeah, but don't forget we've got an appointment tonight."

She turned around giving him a radiant smile before she started moving in the direction of the door. "I fully intend to keep it."

"Good." He gave her behind a good swat as she walked past him.

"Varric Tethras!" She stopped and turned around to look at him in mock indignation. He could tell she had liked it thanks to the amused sparkle in her eyes.

"What?" He tried to look innocent, raising his hands as if to say 'I haven't done anything'.

"Stop that or we may never get out of this room."

"So you really did like that?" He raised an eyebrow, equally excited and fascinated by that particular piece of information he had just received. "My, my, naughty. You're full of surprises."

"Varric, we really do have to leave now. What do you want? Do you want me to beg you?"

"That certainly would be interesting…" He noticed the disapproving frown on her face and quickly backpedaled. "But no. I'll be good now. Cross my heart and hope to die."

He would have loved to indulge in that particular fantasy just a while longer, but even he was no longer able to block out his awareness of the fact that Seeker and ten of her men were waiting in front of the tavern. And of course their presence only meant on thing. Trouble. What she had asked of Hawke, could potentially end up costing them their lives. He was well aware of that, as he was sure Hawke was too.

So he followed Hawke with a grim expression on his face. They marched downstairs, through the door of the tavern and finally stepped out on the street where Cassandra was already waiting for them impatiently. She greeted each of them with a curt nod of her head. "So I take it you have…," here she inserted a meaningful pause and a knowing smirk, "discussed the issue thoroughly."

So much for keeping their relationship a secret. Hawke had the decency to blush. "Yes, we have."

"And what conclusion did you reach?"

Hawke hesitated momentarily before she answered, being well aware of the fact that her next words would impact the course of hers and Varric's life profoundly. "We're in, of course."

Cassandra seemed relieved. As a reaction to Hawke's words she smiled her first genuine smile since they had met. "Then let's not waste time anymore, standing around and talking. We have to leave."

"Leave? Where are we going?"

"I'm going to fill you in on the way."

* * *

><p>People had been eying them with suspicion ever since they had entered town. Now she was gladder than ever that she had managed to convince their entourage to ditch their usual Seeker outfits in favor of something less conspicuous. Nevertheless women still pulled their children into a protective embrace when their little group walked by and could feel at least a dozen eyes on her back that watched her every move.<p>

"I really, really don't like this," she muttered under her breath. Barnaby, her Mabari, was able to hear her words, thanks to his keen ears. He froze in tracks and turned his head to look at her questioningly with his big black eyes.

She briefly rubbed his head, but did not stop walking. The dog, being reassured by her touch, fell into pace with her again.

This town was giving her the creeps. She had to keep reminding herself of the fact that they were here to actually do good. Rumor had it that the local peasant had turned their peaceful little town into a bastion in order to protect their children, namely those who had proven to have magical abilities, from being taking away by the Templars. They had managed to make good on the bastion part. A militia of civilians stood guard on the city walls at all hours and the main gate had been reinforced. It had taken a lot of convincing to persuade the gatekeeper to let them pass the gate. They mainly had to thank Varric and his silver tongue for that.

They were headed towards the house of the town elder, a reasonable man, she had been assured by Cassandra repeatedly. Now that they were walking around town, most of her suspicions had turned out to be correct. Unfortunately, it had been especially the ones that her sometimes rather pessimistic nature had forced on her, like for example the thought that there could be a large number of apostates present. As it turned out, she was right in assuming something like that. She had already met at least have a dozen of them on her way through town. It was easy to spot them in the crowd. These days they didn't even bother to conceal the fact that they were mages anymore, donning flashy ropes and parading around with their staffs.

The Templars were surely already on their way. Without any outward interference this situation had the potential to quickly turn into a rather messy disaster. The frown on her face deepened. What in Andraste's name had possessed her to agree to help the Seekers? Maybe it was because she felt guilty for the events that had come to pass in Kirkwall. Or maybe because she was all too conscious of the fact that she was partly to blame for what was now happening in the rest of the country.

Hawke was walking ahead, flanked by her Mabari, Varric and Cassandra followed a few steps behind, with the rest of the Seekers in toe. "This has disaster written all over it," she heard Varric say softly behind her. She allowed a small smirk to ghost over her face. It was good to know that at least someone seemed to agree with her. The Seekers' grim determination was sometimes rather unnerving.

A few seconds later they had reached their destination. She stopped walking in front of a huge stone house in the middle of the town square. Shielding her eyes from the setting sun with her hand, she took in its weathered façade, the way the stones had been bleached out by wind and weather. She seemed to be in no apparent hurry to set foot over the house's threshold in the near future. The Varric and Cassandra stepped next to her.

"So? What's it going to be, Hawke? Are we going to enter soon or are you determined to soak in the fascinating aura of neglect and decay of this house some more?" Varric inquired, shooting her a curious sideways glance.

"Well, if you have to know," she turned her head to look at him with a delicate eyebrow raised sarcastically, "I was trying to figure out what to say to those people. I'm guessing 'Hello, I'm the Champion of Kirkwall and I'm here to solve all your problems' just won't cut it, will it?"

He smiled amusedly. "No probably not."

"I do understand your hesitance, Hawke. But time really is an issue here...," Cassandra interjected.

"You're right, as usual," Hawke sighed, forcing herself to start moving in the general direction of the house.

She didn't even have to knock at the door. It swung open in front of her, ere she even had the time to raise her hand. The door revealed a tall, armor clad man, apparently the personal guard of the town elder. Behind stood the man in question himself, greeting her with a thin smile. She stepped over the threshold hesitantly, followed by Varric and Cassandra, while the rest of the men waited outside.

The towm elder was a man of sixty, slender with intelligent eyes. "So you're Hawke. The infamous Champion of Kirkwall. My name is Odranis. I expected you to be taller," he greeted her.

"Word travels fast in your little town," Hawke bowed her head to the older man as a sign of respect, deciding to forgo any witty repartee for as long as she was no better judge his character. "Allow me to present to you my traveling companions: Varric Tethras and Cassandra Pentaghast."

Odranis nodded, fixing each of her companions with a taxing gaze as she presented them. Now would have customarily been the time, he would have had to offer them a seat or maybe a drink, but even though the room they found themselves in was furnished with enough chairs to do so, he didn't show the slightest inclination to do so. "Were those friendlier times I would not hesitate to greet you with the words 'Welcome, friends', but with things being as they are, I'm afraid I must skip the pleasantries and ask you straight away why you've come here and what you want."

Hawke carefully deliberated her words before she answered. "We've come here because we've heard of the delicate situation you're currently finding yourselves in."

"And what delicate situation are you talking about?" She could tell he was playing dense on purpose.

A brief exchange of glances with Varric reassured her that it was time to drop the well-mannered act and stop mincing around matters. "Maybe 'delicate' was the wrong word to describe the situation you're in. It'd rather call it a mess. Word is you've got some children here who can cast a couple of spells, and with the Templars already on their way to get them and more apostates holed up in your town than I can count, I'd say the situation is highly explosive."

"True," he didn't deny any of it. "That still doesn't explain why you've decided to grace us with your presence."

"To say that I've come here to solve all your problems would sound conceited…"

"I always thought that it was part of being a hero…being conceited," Odranis interjected. It was now clear that her title didn't mean much to him.

"I'm not a hero," she was quick to correct him, "If I was, I'd be taller."

The older man laughed.

"But I have seen more than my share of bloodshed in my day and if there's anything I can do to prevent anymore senseless deaths, I'll gladly do my part."

"Your part," the old man repeated quizzically. "And what do you think is your part in all this?"

"To ask you to give me time to try to find a peaceful solution before you let your men grab their pitchforks and torches in order to fight against a dozen of well trained Templars."

"You want to talk to a bunch of lyrium addled, sword wielding madmen?"

"That's basically the idea."

"If you're so set on getting killed, be my guest."

"I'd prefer to survive all of this, thank you. But will you do me a favor and try to keep your apostates in check? It might help with the not dying portion of my plan."

Odranis smiled. "You know what? I just might do that."


	10. Backstabbed

She hated waiting. She was sitting on a rock in front of the gates of town, watching the horizon just like she had done the last couple of hours while she was soaking in thoughts of doom and destruction. The dog lay at her feet peacefully dozing. Behind her Cassandra was talking to her men, giving them some last minute instructions. She was probably telling them to keep their temper in check and not do anything stupid like reaching for their weapons impulsively.

Behind her footsteps approached. They were regular, confident and familiar. He slumped down on the rock beside her unceremoniously. For a couple of seconds they just sat there without saying anything, then he broke the silence. "So here we are…Doing the stupid thing again, playing heroes..."

"Yeah," she smiled at him, "the crazy adventures of the Varric and Marian part two."

He laughed and shook his head. "Something along those lines, yeah." A pause. The wind swept over the plain before them, rocking the blades of grass from side to side like waves. "Excellent job with the town elder by the way."

"You think?"

"Yes."

"You know, a couple of months ago I would have probably just gone in there and made a fool of myself, stumbling over my own words and in general making a mess of the whole thing. But you seem to be rubbing off on me…"

"Yeah, rubbing off on you, indeed…" A smirk ghosted over his face. She tried to suppress a smile, but failed miserable at it. "You crude, crude, dwarf," she admonished him. "There's really no need for you to take the difficult task of filling Isabela's boots upon yourself, since she's not around to make all those filthy comments."

"What can I say? You inspire me, Hawke."

She laughed softly. He had managed in only a matter of minutes to pull her out of her sulk. "I'm so glad you're here."

"I know."

Her eyes fixed on the horizon again. Like tiny ants she could see several moving black dots delineate against the washed out blue of the afternoon sky. "They are coming," she said softly.

She felt his hand squeeze hers and turned her head to look at him once more before she leaped into action. "Be careful," he said, fixing her with his eyes. It was clear he wanted to hear an answer from her.

"As careful as I can be."

He nodded grimly. "I guess, given the circumstances, that will have to do."

Together with Cassandra and her men they started walking to meet the group of Templars halfway. As they got closer and closer they were able to make out more details. It was a squadron of fourteen Templars. They were heavily armed, their armors glinting in the light of the sun. Whenever they moved their swords that were hanging from their sides were clanging against the metal of the plates that covered their bodies.

She held up her hand, indicating the rest of the group traveling with her to stop. The Templars did as well. For a moment it was completely silent. The tension that filled the air was palpable. Then a man emerged from the group of Templars. He was slightly older and taller than the rest of them and judging by the way he held himself, it was clear that he was the leader of the group.

"Who are you and why dare you step in our way?" he addressed them, his voice deep and booming.

"My name is Marian Hawke." A murmur of recognition went through the group of Templars. Some of them reached for the hilts of their swords, but didn't not yet draw them, waiting for the next words that would leave her mouth. "This is Cassandra Penteghast, Seeker of the Chantry and my dear old friend Varric Tethras," she indicated each of her traveling companions with a nod of her head.

"Serrah Penteghast, you sure travel in strange company," the leader of the Templars gave Cassandra a suspicious look.

"We're here to help, not to fight," Cassandra responded. "And anyways it should be Hawke you're talking to, not me. She's the leader of our little party."

"I'm supposed to talk to a vile murderess?" he spit on the ground disdainfully.

"Your quick to judge, Serrah Templar," Hawke retorted calmly, though inside she was anything but calm. She was already calculating their chances in a possible battle. It was twelve of them against fourteen Templars. Right now violence seemed to be the only likely outcome of this encounter.

"You killed Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard, did you not?"

"Yes, but she was beside herself at that point, driven mad by some evil magic. Even your own Templar brother Knight-Captain Cullen realized that and fought along my side. Without his help I wouldn't have been able to defeat her."

The other man's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Those are only words. Words that could well be lies."

"What purpose would my lies have? All I want is to avoid further bloodshed. I don't see why this should be a reproachable action."

"By stepping in our way, you side with the mages once again..." The leader of the Templar had now drawn his sword and was pointing it at her threateningly. Negotiations weren't going as smoothly as she would have liked. She could more feel than see Varric slowly reaching for Bianca behind her. This would soon get very, very ugly.

"I do not side with anyone," she hurried to explain. The man looked confused. "As a matter of fact, believe it or not, I'm actually here to help you. You're on your way to this nice little village behind us, right? Well, guess what, going there? Not the smartest of ideas." She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the village. "There are at least a dozen of apostates and over thirty angry peasants with their pitchforks at the ready, waiting impatiently for you to arrive. Now you maybe well-trained and armed, but if I were you, I wouldn't count on surviving this little outing."

He lowered the tip of his sword ever so slightly and looked at her pensively for a moment. "So what are you telling me? That I should turn around and ignore the holy duty bestowed upon me?"

"No, just maybe not enforce it with your sword."

"And what then? Do you think those peasants will give up their children willingly? That they will be convinced by words and proper reasoning?"

Hawke faltered for the fraction of a second. How was she supposed to answer the Templar's questions? If this dilemma was so easy to solve, then half of Ferelden would surely not be at war presently. "I don't know," she finally said, shrugging her shoulders. "I didn't say I had all the answer. All I know is that marching into the village with your swords drawn isn't an option."

"What is the alternative? We fight you instead?"

"You fight me or you walk away unscathed. It's your choice. I'm not your enemy."

The man deliberated his options for a second, as did his companions. Some of them seemed to be unsure what choice to make. That is until their leader made up his mind. "We fight!" he screamed and launched himself at Hawke. That's when the battle started.

Luckily her reflexes had not become too rusty from lack of use, so she was able to avoid the blow of the Templar's sword and managed to draw her own weapons before he could attack her a second time. His broadsword clashed with her two daggers. The impact of the blow sent her staggering back a few steps, but she quickly found her footing again and effortless dived out of the way of the next swing of his blade. She whirled around and struck him on the shoulder and on the right calf, which slowed him down a bit. "You can still stop this," she called out to him.

Instead of an answer the man charged at her again. She ducked out of the way, but wasn't quite fast enough. His blade grazed her left leg, but he, on the other hand, could not evade her daggers which found the weak spots of his armor and embedded themselves into his chest with a sickening wet swishing sound.

Hawke withdrew her daggers with an expression of disgust and regret on her face. As she looked around, she found herself in the midst of a chaotic battle. One of Varric crossbow arrows whistled past her shoulder and embedded itself in the throat of the Templar that had been trying to creep up on her with his sword ready to strike. The surprise broke her out of her reverie.

Before she launched herself into battle again, she took a deep breath, taking the time to assess the situation. Then she leapt into action. She sliced and ducked, her movements were fluid and precise. Suddenly it was like old times again. And even though this was the first fight in over a year, she had actively participated in, her hands and muscles still seemed to know what to do.

When only a couple of her adversaries were still standing, she tried to reason with them again. "Stop!" she cried out over the battlefield. Seekers and Templars alike heeded her command and for a second the fighting died down. "This is your last chance," Hawke wiped the sweat and blood from her forehead as she approached the remaining Templars, looking at each man sternly. "I've killed your leader. Now if you look around, you'll find that you're outnumbered. It's very likely you'll all get killed, but it doesn't have to be that way."

"Really?" One of the Templars asked derisively. "What will happen if we surrender?"

She thought for a moment before she answered. "You will do what your Captain refused to do. You will lay down your weapons and you will come to town with me. You will talk to those people, reason with them and work out a peaceful solution to this problem."

"What if we refuse?"

"You'll die."

As always death seemed to make a rather convincing argument. Surprisingly the Templars really did lay down their weapons. Hawke breathed out a sigh of relief. A couple of Seekers immediately rushed forward to confiscate the Templars' swords. The situation was under control.

She turned around, instinctively looking for Varric. During the battle she had always tried to keep an eye on him, even though she was aware he could take care of himself rather well. But things had changed between them. She worried. Maybe more about him than about herself.

Relief washed over her when she saw him standing there, casually holstering Bianca again as if nothing had happened. He seemed to be completely unscathed. She started to walk over to him. A strange expression appeared on his face when he noticed her approaching. Worry? Now that the adrenalin had left her body she became acutely aware of the pain in her leg and surprisingly also her shoulder. Her hand reached out feeling for the source of the pain. Something was sticking in her back. He was at her side before she could collapse, his expert eyes assessing the damage.

"Well?" she managed to get out. Her words were more an inarticulate hiss than anything else. The world before her eyes was starting to get bleary.

"You've got a dagger sticking in your shoulder, Hawke." His voice sounded matter-of-factly, but it was ever so slightly lined with anger. Anger at her carelessness.

"Can't you pull it out?" She could feel sweat trickling down her forehead.

He gave her an incredulous look. "And start a geyser?" A flask of something smelling suspiciously like a healing potion was shoved under her nose.

"Drink this!"

"But won't the wound close up...," she started to protest weakly.

He shook his head. "You've got too many injuries for that. It will only stop the bleeding and buy us some time. You'll live, but you need a healer."

She finally obeyed and drank the healing potion. It tasted vile, but the pain was slightly more bearable thanks to it. "Have we lost anyone?" she finally asked, trying to take a few tentative steps, staggering ever so slightly while doing so. He wrapped his arm a little tighter around her waist. "No, a couple of men are severely injured, though. And I suppose that you'll be glad to hear that your mangy beast is fine too."

Cassandra appeared at her side. She hadn't seen her coming. The pain made her too self-involved. "Are you alright?" the Seeker inquired worriedly.

"Peachy," Hawke replied. She tried to sound cheery, but failed miserably.

"She needs a healer. And so do some of your men," Varric stated dryly.

The Seeker nodded. "I'll send someone to get one of these apostates from the village. There will certainly be a healer among them." That being said she was gone again, issuing commandos to her men and taking care of the wounded.

"You should sit down," Varric told her softly. She nodded, but couldn't help but worry how she would manage to sit down with her leg wound. He seemed to have thought about that as well. "Put your arms around my neck." She did as she was told and somehow together they managed to lower her to a sitting position without causing her too much pain.

Now that she had bent her injured leg, the pain was washing over her in waves. She tried to focus on something to distract herself – the tips of her boots, the blades of grass before her, anything. His touch broke her out of her reverie. He took her hand in his. She squeezed it thankfully. His presence was a huge comfort to her.

"How bad is the pain?"

"Pretty bad." She was biting the insides of her cheeks to suppress a moan of pain. "Tell me..." she flinched when she tried to move her leg to sit more comfortably, "tell me a story... Anything... Just keep talking so I can focus on your voice instead of the pain."

"You want to hear a story?" he asked incredulously. "Now of all times?"

"Yeah," she nodded weakly.

"Alright… Anything for you, Hawke." He was trying to think of a story, one he hadn't told her yet. One that would distract her from the pain. It had to be good. Very good. He was beginning to have a vague idea of which story to tell her… Desperate times, called for desperate measures.

Just as Varric was about to start his tale, Barnaby trotted over to them. The dog sat down at her feet giving her a curious look. The fur around his snout was slightly reddish. Apparently he had actively participated in the fight. Marian petted his head approvingly, careful not to move her injured shoulder or her leg.

"Now that we're all here...," Varric gave the dog a reproachful look which was half jesting half serious, "I guess I can start telling the story... It was a long time ago in Kirkwall. A young dwarf and his brother had just arrived in the big city. They were," Varric smiled, "they were very different, those two brothers. The older one was everything you'd expect a dwarf to be, the younger one, however, he was rather rebellious, didn't think very highly of dwarven traditions and such. And he never went to any meetings of the Merchants' Guild which was quite scandalous."

He could tell from the pain laced smile on Hawke's face that she had already guessed those two dwarves' names. He continued. "Then one day our young friend met a girl. Her name was Bianca."

Upon hearing that name, he could practically see Hawke's ears prick up. It was the one story he had never told anyone. Maybe because he was the main character of the tale or maybe because those happenings did not exactly add up to the tough as nails persona he tried to project. Under normal circumstances he would probably not have told her the story, but now that she was injured he couldn't come up with a better alternative. He sighed. The things he did for love. Maybe he was still as foolish as he had been back then when he had met Bianca.

Hawke's curious gaze encouraged him to continue. "She was a dwarf like him, but in equal measure pretty and devious. The naive youth fell head over heels for that girl. To prove his love for her, she expected him to accomplish several tasks and blinded by love the young dwarf agreed."

Varric's tale was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Hawke looked up to see Cassandra approach accompanied by a mage, easily recognizable thanks to his robes and the staff he carried. Upon seeing them, she felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief.

As they got closer Marian could see that the healer was about her age, maybe even younger. He introduced himself as Darian. She nodded at him curtly. The pain, she had momentarily managed to forget over Varric's tale, had returned with full force.

The healer frowned when he looked at her leg, but gave her a reassuring smile when she looked had him worriedly. "No big deal. I'll be able to fix you," he said. But when he laid eyes on the dagger sticking in her shoulder, his frown deepened. "It was smart thinking not to pull it out yet. It could have nicked an artery..."

"But you're going to pull it the hell out now?" Hawke inquired through clenched teeth.

"Yes," the healer responded with a small smile. "Will you...?" he looked at Varric.

It was clear what he was asking. Would he pull out the dagger? Varric looked at Hawke questioningly. There was no fear in her eyes, only the haunted somewhat vacant look of someone in pain. It was hard for him to bear that look much longer. He would give anything to help diminish that pain. He experimentally tugged at his hand, she still held onto tightly as if her life depended on it. She shook her head. He smiled the tiniest of smiles at her. It was only a short twitch of the corners of his mouth, a brief sparkle of his eyes – something only she was allowed to see.

"I suppose I won't," he answered finally.

The healer nodded and looked at Cassandra questioningly. "Tell me what I have to do," the Seeker said calmly.

"Grab the hilt of the dagger, pull at the count of three."

"Are you ready?" Darian asked Hawke worriedly before they started.

Varric could feel Hawke squeeze his hand a little tighter right before she answered. "No, but I guess, having a dagger sticking in your back can't be written of as an eccentric fashion statement, can it? Probably not even in Orlais. Sorry, Cassandra."

The healer allowed himself a brief smirk as did Cassandra. "Alright. Let's get started. On the count of three..." The healer raised his hands started to weave a magic spell. An eerie green light emanated from his hands. "One." Hawke could feel her skin starting to prickle. Her fingers closed a little tighter around Varric's hand. Her eyes were huge with fear. "It's going to be alright, princess," Varric reassured her, not minding for once who heard him use this endearment when he spoke to her or the soft tone of his voice. "Two." Hawke closed her eyes, preparing herself for the onslaught of pain that was soon to come. "Three." Her howl of pain resounded over the plain as Cassandra pulled out the dagger with a swift movement. Blood bubbled out of the wound for a second, but then its flow subsided as the healer intensified his efforts. The skin over the wound started to knit itself together, leaving nothing behind but an angry red mark.

Hawke didn't pay attention to what was happening around her. She was shacking. Sweat was trickling down her forehead. She could feel a soothing cool hand brush the hair from her face. She leaned into the touch instinctively. There was a reassuring voice in her ear that told her over and over again everything would be alright. She believed what it said. She closed her eyes for a while, suddenly feeling too tired to hold on to consciousness any longer. The pain finally subsided when she finally gave into the beckoning darkness and slumber.


	11. Pillow Talk

She slowly came to again. She was no longer stretched out on the grass. She could feel the softness of a mattress beneath her and the linen against her naked skin. Wait a second. Now why was she naked? She opened her eyes. For a second everything around her was still blurry, then she saw a face hovering over her. Familiar brown eyes that assumed the slightest amber tint as the sunlight that was streaming in through the window hit them, were watching her attentively.

"Where am I?"

"Odranis' house."

"You've undressed me," she stated somewhat matter-of-factly.

"I've behaved myself. Besides don't get too worked up about it. There was nothing I haven't seen yet," Varric was lying next to her on the bed casually. He was fully dressed. "Pity though! I was very much hoping you'd be conscious and not recovering from some serious injuries the next time I did that."

"Me too," she replied, slowly sitting up in bed. The linen was threatening to slip down, so she held it in place with her hand. True, he had already seen her without her clothes on, but only this one time. And she didn't feel that comfortable around him yet, to be parading herself around half-naked.

"Don't ever pull a stunt like that again, understood?" His words were serious, but the tone of his voice had a completely different quality to it. It was soft and low.

She looked at him with a half-smile. "Get stabbed?"

"Exactly."

"Why?"

He looked at her wordlessly for the fraction of a second as if he was trying to convey his answer by merely looking at her, then he finally spoke. "Because some day you and your little antics will give me a heart attack, that's why."

She leaned in and kissed his cheek tenderly. "Lighten up, Varric. I'm still in one piece. I'm still here."

He didn't not respond verbally, but turned his head ever so slightly and kissed her on the mouth. The kiss was lingering, tender and very distracting. She suddenly felt cold. She broke away from him. Unbeknownst to her he had pulled the linen from her grasp and she was now sitting there with her upper body exposed. He apparently thought himself to be pretty clever for pulling off that little trick, judging by the smirk he had plastered on his face.

She glared at him angrily and covered herself up again. "What? You told me to lighten up," he replied, that cheeky grin still in place.

"You never finished your story," she informed him with an expression on her face that was dangerously close to sulking. His smile fell.

"I was hoping you'd forget about that."

"Well, luckily for both of us, I haven't."

"Yeah, joy of joys!" he muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"Oh, come on! Please? I'm still convalescent after all." Marian looked at him through long lashes with her big turquoise eyes. Any trace of ill-humor that had been visible on his face quite blatantly before, was already starting to disappear. She scooted closer to him, to finally rest her head in the crook of his shoulder. He encircled her waist with his arm, the last remnants of fake or real annoyance finally gone. She let out a content sigh.

Who was he to refuse her anything? Anything at all? So he picked up the tale where he had last left off.

"So Bianca…," he looked ahead for a moment pensively, then he continued, "well, she was two-timing our poor young friend."

"Why?" she looked at him in surprise.

He sighed. "As it turned out she already had another suitor, or to be more precise, she was engaged to that other man. The only problem was that he was not to her stern father's liking who wanted the future husband of his daughter to be nothing short of a rich nobleman."

"Let me guess, our young friend was incidentally of noble blood? I can see where this is going…," Marian interjected. There was something akin suspiciously to anger in her voice. He looked at her and smiled. The fingers of his free hand briefly stroked over her cheek and brushed a few stubborn strains of black hair from her eyes before he returned to telling the story again.

"Unfortunately love seems to make blind and in that case also extremely gullible and stupid. As I said before, Bianca was quite devious. She made our young man believe that she was really in love with him, even went as far as accepting a marriage proposal from him. Her father was beside himself with joy. She managed to fool everyone. She was pretending to be the obedient daughter and the faithful fiancé, while at the same time she was preparing to elope with her secret lover. As token of love she requested a lot of expensive presents from the young naïve dwarf. Jewelry, dresses, made from the finest fabrics, all kinds of things…"

Hawke was positively looking irritated now. "In short she took all those presents and turned them into money, so she would have something to sustain herself with after her grand exit."

"Yes. As I said before, unfortunately I was extremely gullible back then." Hawke noticed his slip of tongue that consisted in a rather dramatic shift of narrative perspective, he had suddenly turned into I, but wisely decided not to comment on it. Instead she chose to keep silent from now and just listen. "I got Bianca her little presents, some I bought, others I stole. The City Guard were hot on my heels, but I always managed to trick them. It was an exhilarating time. Everything seemed exciting and new. I felt happy, like I was on top of the world. Little was I to know that soon that silly little delusion would have been destroyed.

The evening before our wedding I went to Bianca's house. I wanted to see her one last time before our big day. But she wasn't there. All I found was a hastily scribbled note, filled with false apologies. It had obviously been written in quite a hurry. I imagine she and her lover had a right little laugh about me."

He stopped talking. The silence between them stretched on and on. He seemed to be a thousand miles away. The expression in his eyes worried her a little, because it was uncharacteristic dark and brooding, so she decided to speak up after a couple of more seconds had passed. "So what did you do then?"

Her question ripped him out of his thoughts. For the fraction of a second he seemed to be at a loss for words, but he quickly recovered. "I got drunk, of course, quite spectacularly drunk. Now that I'm thinking about it, the whole week after Bianca's disappearance is just a huge blur." His expression was now strangely bordering on nostalgic. "The next thing I remember was waking up at the Hanged Man with a painful headache. But there was this beautiful crossbow on the table in front of me…Must have won it in a gamble or something…"

She ignored his last comment, knowing all too well that it was just a smoke screen that only served on purpose. This one last sentence was supposed to make the story appear less serious, like it was nothing but a nostalgic memory from the past. But she wouldn't fall for that. By nature she was much too curious and inquisitive for her own good. "Now that you've told me your story, I still fail to understand this one thing..."

He sighed, apparently aware of the fact that like a dog with a bone she was determined not to let it go yet. "Alright, out with it, princess."

"Why is it that whenever I asked about how Bianca got her name before, you always told me that it was the one story you could never tell?"

"Haven't you been paying attention?" He looked at her incredulously.

"I think I have." She sat up a little straighter when she said that, unconsciously scooting out of his embrace. "I get that it is not a story you would be telling just anyone, but at least your close friends…"

He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. "By the ancestors! Listen, Hawke, if it was just some fond, nostalgic memory from my youth, I could now whole-heartedly laugh about, I surely would not shy away from telling that story to anyone ready to hear it. The thing is just…" he hesitated.

"Yes?"

Why did she always have to drill that deep? She was not content with scratching the surface of things. She always had to see them through to the end. It was one of her qualities that sometimes exasperated him to no end, but at the same time made him love her even more.

"Well, I you absolutely have to know, I don't think that I have essentially changed that much since what happened with Bianca. True, I've become significantly less naïve and more cynical, but I'm still a fool in love." He sounded downright cross and he never sounded cross. Seeing him like that was a new experience for her, slightly disconcerting even. Marian started to worry that she had pushed him too far.

"I do know are thing or two about heartache, remember?"

He briefly looked at her. Remembrance was flickering in his eyes. His gaze softened somewhat. "Yeah, kind of hard to forget about blondie."

"It is," she confirmed softly. "And what happened between him and me is not very different from what happened between Bianca and you. He made me believe a lie and I fell for it, because I wanted to be loved and understood. I don't know what I was thinking back then. I was stupid really…"

"You were in love, Hawke. As we have already ascertained in the course of this talk, love makes you do a bunch of stupid things."

"Yes, but now that I think back. I wonder why I didn't see it earlier. Everything was already so complicated. It was a difficult time. There was the blight. I had just lost my sister… There was this whole Justice dilemma, the fact Anders was constantly on the run because he was an apostate mage and on top of that a Grey Warden…" Her own words started to sink in and a self-deprecating smile appeared on her face. "Wow, my love life sounds kind of ridiculous summed up like that, doesn't it?" She looked at him expectantly. He just shrugged his shoulders.

"I sometimes wonder what made me think back then that it could have ever worked…"

"Maybe the same thing that makes you think that it could work out with me…" His tone was trying for joking but ended up sounding slightly resigned.

She looked at him sharply. "That's not a good comparison…"

"Why?"

"Since we've known each other, have you ever lied to me about something important?"

"No."

"Do you trust me?" she raised her index finger admonishingly as she saw him take a deep breath as if he was about to reply. "Wait, before you answer. Do you trust me enough to come to me with your problems? To talk them through with me before you make any rash, life altering decisions?"

"That's your question? Seriously? What are we just doing now?" he rolled his eyes at her.

"See?" she looked at him triumphantly.

"It isn't as uncomplicated as you make it sound, Hawke. With time passing you might get bothered by what people…"

She briskly interrupted him. "I don't give a rat's ass about what people say about us. Do you?"

"No," Varric sounded relieved, as if a large burden had been lifted of his shoulders. Had he been worrying about that? Had he taken her admonition to keep their relationship secret as a rejection? All she had wanted was not to give the Seekers any extra leverage. Did he think she was ashamed of him?

The truth was that she had no idea what was going on in that head of his. He was sometimes frustratingly hard to read. "I can tell there is something else that's bothering you, but I'm not able to read your mind…"

"Alright," he rubbed his hands together nervously, "since I'm in over my head anyways I might as well come out and say it and make a complete fool out of myself all the way…" His eyes were intently fixed on the footboard of the bed. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm head over heels in love with you, and I'm scared, scared to death of losing you. Something your little close run-ins with death don't particularly help with… Besides, it's not like I can get another crossbow and name it Marian. That would just be too tacky."

For a couple of moments she was utterly gob smacked. And it was not because the inappropriate comment at the end of his little speech. Had he just willingly bared his soul to her? Had she misheard him? With each passing second it started to sink in more and more that she hadn't. How was she supposed to make him understand that she felt the same way about him? Almost against her own volition she was reminded of their early days, their first encounter. She smiled.

"Do you know that I had a crush on you ever since we've first met in Hightown?" Her question seemed to be oddly disconnected from their previous conversation, so it took him somewhat by surprise.

"Erm… no?" What was she trying to tell him here? Was this her way of letting him down gently? "You're just saying that to make me feel good." His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"No. Remember when I first came to you at the Hanged Man?"

"Well, of course, how could I ever forget?"

"I was flirting with you back then."

"Really?"

"Yes," she nodded avidly. "Don't play dense. As if me calling you a hero and gushing about how handsome you were, wasn't a dead give away…"

"I thought you were being witty."

She let out a frustrated groan. "Yes, but I was also trying to flirt with you."

"Apparently you were only trying, but not succeeding."

She tried to stay calm and patient, but for the fraction of a second there was an angry sparkle in her eyes. "Also you never seemed to take me serious. Remember that comment you made? You said I was too high maintenance for you…"

"Yeah, that," he grinned. "Still true."

She ignored him. "Needless to say that after that I was a little disheartened and eventually gave up pursuing you."

"Regrettably so. Couldn't you have been a little more…well, persistent and obvious?"

"What? Anymore obvious than that and I would have had to strip naked and wait in your bed at the end of the day."

"As I said. Pity." He couldn't help but mentally envision that picture.

She could now tell that he was making those sarcastic comments on purpose. And who was she to blame him for that? After all she was yet to get to the point of their fond little trip down memory lane. "Do you think our friendship would have survived that?" she finally asked, trying to give their conversation a slightly more serious tone again.

"I don't know," he said after a while pensively.

"See. Maybe it was a good think it didn't go anywhere back then…"

"Maybe…," Varric finally conceded.

"It was probably for the better. Back then it was just a crush. Something based on superficial things like how suave I thought you were handling that two-bit pickpocket or how witty you were or handsome." There was a faint smile tucking at the corners of his mouth. She continued. "I love you now. That's anything but superficial. It's because I know you. And you know me. Offs, downfalls and everything."

"Yeah, and I'm glad it all happened like it did." He leaned over and kissed her. It was brief, but tender.

"So do you still feel like you'll eventually have to get another crossbow in the not so distant future and name it after me?" she asked, her voice laced with uncharacteristic shyness.

"Nah," he smirked. "I'll just rename Bianca."

Hawke let out an undignified groan of frustration. "Not funny."

"Sorry, to correct you, love, but it is." He smirked triumphantly. Pushing her buttons was just too delicious.

"You know what, Varric?"

"Yes, my dearest?" He was smiling at her sweetly, but his choice of endearment was warning her not to expect anything but mockery from him at this point of their conversation. Too much gravity and seriousness just wasn't in his nature. She understood his insistence not to dwell on things that would eventually only make you melancholic. In fact it was one of the many qualities she admired about him. She was, however, still determined to make her point, even despite of his playful mood.

"You sometimes enrage me more than any other being on this planet will ever be able to…"

"Believe me, the feeling's likewise," he interjected with his trademark smirk on his face.

"But no matter how irritating you can sometimes be…," she briefly paused for effect. She wanted him to understand every word she said. "I can't even begin to describe how much I love you."

For only the fraction of a second he was rendered speechless by her admission, but that minuscule moment of hesitance was quite telling. The way he looked at her, the wordless adoration that was there in his eyes, told her everything she needed to know about his feelings.

He cleared his throat. "Nice speech," he finally deadpanned.

"Thought so, too." She smiled and leaned towards him conspiratorially. "But come closer and I'll let you in one a little secret."

His eyes were focused on her lips. The way they opened and closed, the way her tongue touched her front teeth when she pronounced an 'l'. "Tell me."

"Sometimes actions speak louder than words." She scooted over to him and kissed him on the mouth, slowly and languidly. She felt the linen slip down her upper body as she moved, but that was something she couldn't possibly care less about. After all he would hopefully soon be just as naked as she was.


	12. Alright

Peace talks were conveniently held at Odranis' house, so all Hawke had to do was walk downstairs. After two days of bed rest she felt ready to face up to her duties again. Admittedly those two days did not involve quite that much rest as the words bed rest would imply, thanks to Varric's presence, but that did not make them any less relaxing. Now, however, she had to occupy herself with considerable less pleasant things again.

The wooden steps creaked under her feet when she stepped on them and announced her presence to the other people waiting for her downstairs in the town elder's huge receiving room. It was the same exact room they had found themselves in when they had first met Odranis a couple of days prior. Only now it had been furnished accordingly to accommodate the peace talks currently held in it. There was long table. On one side of it there were the representatives of the town, namely Odranis, another man around his sixties and a white-haired woman, on the other side of it there were the Templars. With their Captain slain in battle, the next highest raking Templar of the squadron had taken it upon himself to lead peace talks. He was a man in his early thirties, smooth faced, red-brownish hair, muscular built.

Conversation briefly halted when they saw her come downstairs, but was resumed pretty quickly after everyone had enquired after her health and had received a satisfying answer. Hawke stepped next to Cassandra who was leaning against the wall casually, apparently determined to oversee the course of the talk from the background. Varric, in the meantime, took a seat at the bottom of the stairs, lounging there comfortable with his arms draped on the steps behind him and his legs stretched out in front of him.

Hawke made a few whispered enquiries as to the identities of the people involved in the peace talks, but mainly she was interested in information about the Templars because they were an unknown factor in this equation. The new leader of the Templars was Kevin Awyern, Cassandra informed her in hushed tones, also pointing out that in the course of conversation the young man had revealed himself to be quite reasonable and patient. Hawke felt somewhat reassured. Yet again a peaceful solution was still to be agreed on, Cassandra told her.

The way the other woman had described everything to her, the detail of her observations and her assessment of everyone's character, made Hawke smile at her appreciatively. This was one of the many small moments that reaffirmed her in her belief that she had made the right call in agreeing to come with the Seekers. Of course, there were also moments of doubt, one particularly so when she had been backstabbed in battle. She could feel the other woman's eyes resting on her face and turned her head to look at her. "Something amiss?" she asked casually.

"No, I just wanted to thank you for coming with us…" Cassandra said after a moment of contemplation. The words sounded somewhat stiff and detached as they left her mouth, in spite of the natural softness her Orlesian accent naturally bestowed on them. Apparently it had been difficult for her, actually saying them out loud.

Hawke smiled at her benevolently. "Well, you didn't leave me much choice back then."

The other woman looked away, focusing now on the people sitting around the table in front of them. Her face looked slightly more boyish and younger seen in profile like that. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. I would have liked to have given you a choice."

"Don't beat yourself up over it. Despite of everything I still had two options. Run some more or face up to the music… I just had to…," Hawke briefly deliberated her choice of words, "settle a few things before I could ultimately make up my mind." She sighed. "I think it was the right choice, though. Luckily."

A slight smirk tugged at the left corner of Cassandra's mouth, the one visible from Hawke's position. "Glad to hear that."

"Yeah."

They focused back on the conversation going on in front of them which had reached a halt judging by the sour looks on everyone's faces. "So let me get this straight, Serrah Templar," Odranis scooted closer to the table, his hands folded on top of it, "So far we've managed to agree on the following things: We're not ready to give the children to you, while you on the other hand are not ready to leave them here without Templar supervision…"

"Yes," the young man nodded, "even you must realize that they cannot be left to their own devices. Mages are always prone to the temptations of fade demons. Would you be able to detect the first signs of a possession? Could you deal with an abomination?"

Odranis shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry to say that we could probably not, but you won't rip those families apart. We won't let you take them." The sadness on his face had been replaced by stony resolve.

A stagy cough could be heard from the general direction of the stairs, but apparently its effect was entirely lost on the two men since they immediately continued talking, so Varric got up from his comfortable place on the stairs and approached the table. Hawke and Cassandra watched him with equally surprised expression on their faces.

"Might I interrupt for a second?" The dwarf casually leaned on the counter of the table. All eyes were directed on him expectantly, which he took as a silent invitation to continue talking.

"It seems, gentle sirs, that you have quite successfully managed to talk yourselves into a corner. Maybe you are too close to see the obvious, but allow me to point it out to you. You," he looked pointedly at Odranis, "are not willing to give up the children, while you," he looked at the young Templar in turn, "are not willing to leave without the children…"

"And your point is, dwarf?" the leader of the Templars asked impatiently.

"Well, since you don't want to leave, why don't you stay and keep an eye on things?"

For a moment it was completely silent inside the room. Odranis was the first to speak again. "But only under certain conditions. I'm not having a bunch of sword happy Templars run rampant in my town…"

"It does sound like an idea. But some of us do have families at home. Not everyone will be willing to stay. Besides, what will I tell my superiors?"

The discussion was resumed with more ardor, only now the fronts seemed less hardened. Varric's proposition was seriously being considered, argued about, worked with and refined. The dwarf, unbeknownst to the men and women around the table, turned around with a satisfied smirk on his face and started walking towards the door.

"Where is he going?" Cassandra asked her surprisedly.

"Now that he's had his great entrance?" Hawke said with a smirk.

"Yeah…"

"Well, I'll let you have a guess…" There was a mirthful expression in her eyes when she looked at the other woman.

Cassandra smiled. "Next tavern?"

"Yup, got it right the first time," Hawke smiled back.

"I must say, despite his debatable taste in rundown taverns, that dwarf of yours is quite useful. I'm starting to see why you were so determined to bring him along."

* * *

><p>The little tavern was quite full. Apparently this was the place everyone went after a hard day of work. There was laughter, excited talk and drunken cheering. The tavern was lacking the usual aggressive vibe that always seemed to hang in the air when people had one too many drinks; in short it was one of the nicer places she had been to.<p>

Without having to look she knew that she would find Varric somewhere at the back of the tavern. He had a penchant for picking some table in a corner because it had the advantage of affording him the chance to oversee the whole room. Also nobody could sneak up to him without him noticing.

She, however, didn't have the slightest intention of sneaking up on him. And the combination of a sweet smile and two mugs of ale would certainly make sneaking completely superfluous anyhow.

She slowly made her way through the crowd, towards the bar. She had just made eye contact with the innkeeper who had signaled her with a curt nod that he would come by shortly to take her order, when a young man stepped into her line of vision. He was about her age, not bad looking and wore a complacent grin on his face as he approached her. Her lips immediately set into a thin line, but other than that there were no other, more prominent signs of her discomfort visible on her face.

"I don't usually do something like this…," he started. Her eyes narrowed. She was quite sure he did do something exactly like that on a quite regular basis. The man opposite of her, however, seemed to be oblivious to her disapproval and continued. "I couldn't help but notice you when you entered. You have to be the single most striking woman I have ever seen in my life. Let me offer you a drink…"

She threw him a thin, but still friendly smile, trying not to be completely rude as she shot him down. "Thank you very much, but I'd rather pay for my one drink." As if on clue the innkeeper finally appeared at their side. "Two ales," Hawke shouted at him across the counter. He nodded and quickly disappeared to get her order. The young man was still there. He seemed to be unusually persistent, either that or somewhat dense.

"Are you here with someone?" he finally asked.

"Yes," was her short reply.

Now normally any guy would have given up, but this one was unexpectedly hard to get rid off. "Well, he's not here right now." He gave her what was doubtlessly to be his most dashing smile. "My name is Daniel."

She threw him a skeptical glance. "You don't have problems with your hearing, do you, Daniel?" The innkeeper was back and handed her the drinks over the counter in exchange for five copper coins. She took them from him and without so much as another word, turned around and started walking.

Daniel fell in step right next to her. She rolled her eyes, but refrained from making another comment for now.

"You haven't told me your name…," he said as he calmly followed her through the crowd like a pesky little puppy, always one step behind her.

"Will you go away if I tell you?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Unlikely," he replied truthfully.

"Then there's really no point in telling you, I guess," she replied.

"Your mouth says 'no', but your eyes say 'yes."

She stopped and turned around to look at the young man sharply. "You got it wrong. Actually it's just my fist saying 'yes' to the recurring thought of hitting you in the face."

"Uh, feisty! I like that."

Hawke just sighed and continued walking. Seconds later they had reached Varric's table. Apparently he was trying for mysterious today, sitting alone in a shadowy corner, keeping away from gossiping patrons who were drinking and joking. Upon seeing Hawke his eyes lit up, especially when he noticed that she was coming to him bearing alcoholic beverages.

"How very thoughtful of you to bring me another one of that tasty ales, love." She set down the mug in front of him with a smile. "Not that I don't like company, but who's that fellow? I thought we were past the whole 'collecting strays in order to form a group of merry misfits' deal" He gave her a quizzical look.

"We are," she reassured him as she sat down besides him. "This one's just incredibly pesky."

"Hey, I'm standing right here!" the other man complained.

"It's your own fault. I told you to get lost." She scooted closer to Varric, placing her hand on his while she stage whispered into his ear. "He's been hitting on me."

Daniel, in the meantime, finally got the clue. "You're the one she's here with."

"Yes," Varric casually leaned back in his chair. There was a sardonic smile on his face, which made Hawke unsure of whether she should be amused by the whole scenario or feel pity for what was about to happen to that unsuspecting young man.

Daniel was apparently completely unaware of the danger he was in or else he wouldn't have said the following words to Hawke: "You're cute, but I thought you had better taste in man. I mean a dwarf? Don't you want to be with a real man?" That was when she rather abruptly stopped feeling sorry for that young man. Her face turned into a stony mask. She was about to get up or at least make a comment when she felt Varric's hand on her arm holding her back. So he wanted to settle this. She would let him.

Varric's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Hawke, remember last year? The Bone Pit?"

"Yeah, what about it?" she forced to keep her voice casual, when all she wanted to do was stand up and smack that stupid, narrow minded man, standing in front of them, over his thick head.

"The dragon?" Varric supplied.

"You mean the one you took down with your crossbow?"

"Yeah." Varric smiled. "Tell me, have you ever killed a dragon, lad?"

"No."

"Hmmmh. Fought in a war?" Daniel shook his head. "Picked up a sword to protect your family?" Daniel shook his head again. His superior grin was still on his face, so he was about to make another stupid remark apparently. Varric was about to pose another question, but the young man simply interrupted him.

"I don't think all those things mean anything as long as you can keep your woman satisfied."

Hawke let out a frustrated groan. Varric just petted her arm reassuringly and smiled. "I know that he is extremely annoying. I'll take care of it."

"No," she said. Her eyes flickered with suppressed anger. "No, you won't. I'll handle this."

Varric just shrugged his shoulders and smirked. "Might I add that killing him, though it might appear most appealing right now, is not an option…"

"Don't you worry." She stood up and David retreated somewhat. "I won't kill him." He started backing away further, but was eventually stopped by a pillar. She walked closer and closer to the young man until they were only inches apart. Her breath tickled his skin when she next spoke. "Watch this!"

She turned around and walked back to the table. Standing in front of Varric, she hesitated momentarily. There was an unspoken question in her eyes, as if she was asking him whether he allowed her to go on. The unspoken question she posed him was a rather superfluous one. He trusted her. Completely. He simply nodded at her, although he didn't know what she was up to. It was a barely perceptible motion, only visible to her because she was standing that close to him. She slowly swung one leg over the chair and lowered herself onto his lap, so she was straddling him. Her eyes always held contact with his, to make sure he knew he could stop this any time. His gaze was unwavering, open, inviting, curious, maybe even a bit amused. She kissed him. Not timidly, but like she would have done had they been alone in the privacy of the bedroom. He responded in kind.

She only stopped when she heard the catcalls of the other patrons and a pitiful choking noise coming from the general direction where Daniel was standing. She slowly got up and walked over to the man, her eyes suddenly devoid of anger. There was a strange expression in them. Where they serene, maybe even calm? One thing was clear though, she seemed to be utterly at peace with herself and what she had just done.

"Get lost," she said simply. He nodded avidly and started walking away without another word. "The show is over," she announced to the rest of the room. Maybe her words had been unnecessary. People were already starting to lose interested in them, focusing their attention on other things again, like say for example a nice glass of wine or a mug of ale.

She walked back to Varric who was quite predictably smirking at her like a cat that had just eaten a canary. "Oh, shut up!" She told him with a smile as she sat down. Of course, he rarely did what she told him to, so it was quite inevitable he made a comment. He leaned closer to her so that he could whisper in her ear. "Have I told you lately that I love the fact that you can be so deliciously devious?" His hand was on her thigh. She could feel the heat of his touch through the fabric of her trouser. "No, but I hope that that's not the only thing about me that you love," she teased. "Give me time, some parchment and a quill and I shall compose a serenade praising all your loveable qualities," he wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. She laughed. For a moment she forgot all about Templars, Darkspawn, Mages and impending wars. Her focus was on him. What he made her feel. And for some stupid reason she believed that, no matter what the future held in store for them, they would be okay as long as they were together.


End file.
